We were still living in the motorhome, when I started 3rd grade in Lathrop, California.

I did kinder and 1st grade at the Christian Life Center church school, in Stockton, California.

Second grade was at Parklane Elementary School in Stockton too.

I was a little nervous about going to a new school, but at the same time, I was looking forward to this new adventure.

I remember being particularly happy about my new pair of shoes.

They were the color of a palomino horse, with three cutouts on the top, a white stitch pattern that swirled across the toes, and they buckled.

My mom walked us kids to our classrooms, and when we got to mine, there at the door was my friend from the Spanish apostolic church!

This was a pleasant surprise; I had a friend at my new school!

But relief soon turned to another surprise, and then jealousy.

This friend from the Spanish apostolic church, was wearing pants!

I thought we weren’t allowed to wear pants!

I didn’t care that they were the ugliest pair of brown polyester pants I had ever seen. I was jealous because she got to wear pants, and I couldn’t.

My teacher’s name was Miss Castro. She was young and tanned, with thick beautiful wavy hair that went past her waist, and I think hovered somewhere above her knees.

She wore heavy makeup on her eyes, cheeks and lips and was dressed beautifully.

Miss Castro had organized our desks into pods. Our names were written in large letters on a narrow piece of lined paper that was placed at the top of our desks.

Miss Castro encouraged us to look for our own desk.

As I was looking for my name, I saw the name, Penelope. Cept, I didn’t know the lope part of it had a wiggle to it, so I pronounced it in my 3rd grade head like you would, antelope.

I continued looking for my own name while thinking, who would name their kid, Penny-lope?

Miss Castro was extremely organized and demanded the same from us.

How does one accomplish such?

Well, Miss Castro had a big glass jar filled with colorful trinkets that only a 3rd grader could appreciate.

This jar sat on a counter near the windows in our classroom.

Every time class would start or after recess, after lunch, when we would come into the classroom, Miss Castro would be waiting for us at the front of the class near the chalkboard.

She would have a piece of chalk in one hand, and her other hand on a hip and would survey the land.

Us kids would stop talking, sit up straight at our desks with our hands folded on top, and stare back at Miss Castro while wishing on a star, literally.

Or at least that’s what you were supposed to do if you wanted a star.

You see, up on the chalkboard, Miss Castro had all the pods numbered.

She would pick the best poised and quietest pod and would put on the chalkboard, a star next to that pod’s number.

At the end of every week, the pod with the most stars got to stomp over to the jar and pick out something.

I knew right away that if my pod ever won for the week, I would pick the little blue frisbee to give to my little brother, Ben.

The leaves of Fall began to fall in Lathrop, California and I would come to love Miss Castro and being in the 3rd grade.

The school bus picked us up and dropped us off in front of the yellow house that still wasn’t ready for us to move in.

I knew my older brother, Jon was embarrassed that we were still living in the motorhome because when the school bus would drop us off, Jon would walk straight towards the yellow house, instead of to the right where our motorhome was.

I didn’t care what Mary the bus driver or the other kids on the bus thought. I would quickly veer to the right towards the motorhome.

Sometimes to be a brat, I would holler out at Jon, “Where are you going?”

One time, Mary waited longer than she had to after dropping us off and I remember looking over my left shoulder to her and she was just watching us.

She knew us kids were sibs, and I think she was curious as to why Jon would walk straight towards the yellow house, but the rest of us, would walk to the motorhome.

It was Christmas Eve, and my family celebrated with friends at their house.

Excitement filled the air. It was almost time for Christmas.

I remember towards the end of our visit; I had gathered myself on the living room floor, laying on my stomach with my right ear practically on the stereo speaker.

I loved listening to music, and a song being sung by a choir was playing.

It was a glorious song that made my heart swoon and my little spirit rise.

I had never heard it before, but I listened to it intently and I felt pure joy when the choir would sing the chorus, “The highest praise, is more than spoken words, it’s what my heart would say…”

No sooner did the song finish, and it was time to go, but I left with my eyes shining and my ears tingling from the song.

On the way home, us kids asked my parents if we could open our Christmas presents at midnight.

They said, yes but that we would have to go to bed first so they could wrap them up.

This annoyed me because I DIDN’T WANT TO GO TO BED!

But what could we do? We were still living in the motorhome. The only way for us not to see our gifts, was to go to bed while they wrapped them at the kitchen table.

For good measure and no peeping Toms, the curtain that separated the bunk beds from the rest of the motorhome, was pulled closed.

Next thing I know, I am being told to wake up to open our presents.

Then I was annoyed again because I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE UP TO OPEN CHRISTMAS PRESENTS!

(Goodness, I was a brat!)

Us kids gathered with my parents at the kitchen table.

I wish I could remember all the Christmas presents I got that year, but I only remember one.

It was a little purple sewing machine.

I was excited about this gift and couldn’t wait to try it out, but it would have to wait until morning because I wanted to go back to sleep.

I remember sleeping with it next to me…

Recently enough, I asked my mom just how long we lived in the motorhome before we moved into the yellow house, and she said she thinks it was for around a year.

I was surprised by this. It sure didn’t feel like a year to me.

I knew it was at least a few months though because I turned eight in September, and I remember Christmas Eve in the motorhome.

When I think of the time living in the motorhome, in Lathrop, California, I can taste the sweetness of life.

My pod would eventually receive the most stars in a week on the chalkboard to warrant us stomping over to the jar filled with trinkets that only a 3rd grader could appreciate.

And the angels rejoiced with little Missy when she stuck her scrawny hand in the jar and pulled out the little blue frisbee that was to be given to her little brother, Ben.

I tasted the sweetness of life when after the school year was almost over, I finally got Student of the Month!

I tasted the sweetness of life, when I would reach for the little velvet apricots that hung gently from the apricot tree.

~missy salcido wead

Dear Reader, Little did I know, around a year later, my family would be involved in a terrible accident with this motorhome. By then, we were living in the yellow house. I wrote a blog about it simply titled, The Accident. You’ll have to scroll back to last year’s March to read it if you haven’t done so already.