The summer of 1981, filled with relay races, fire hydrant sprints, bike rides, playing the dozens and late night cook-outs (aka barbecues for those of the other persuasions) also was the year and season my mid-sized urban city, Paterson, New Jersey, decided to redistrict its school zones. The immediate consequence of this bureacratic shift fell squarely on the minor children of the city as many of us were transferred to various schools throughout the city, dependent of course on our neighborhood. Swish! Just like that! By the hand of the vote of the local school board and the pen of then Superintendent Dr. Frank Napier, my siblings, many neighbors and I, along with dozens of children around the city, were transferred from one school to another. This action quietly disrupted the "close" friendships I had developed in the first and second grades at my former school, P.S. # 12.
So in September 1981, the year in which I was to enter the third grade and the month in which I would meet my best friend for life, I, along with some my two sisters and other kids on my block, became a student at P.S. # 4. The initial transfer was smooth and painless. Once Dr. Napier signed the edict, the staff members of P.S. # 12 gathered our paperwork and forwarded it to the staff members at P.S. # 4. Voila! We were signed sealed and delivered. However, this is the age before the internet, email and even the regular use of the personal computer in the workplace. So naturally there was human error. As Murphy's Law often seems a running stream in my own life, the human error, though small and meaningless in the grand scheme of things, affected me and none of my othere transferees, that is as far as I can remember.
My original birthdate is April 24. I have always been aware of that since about April 24, 1976, when my family visited my aunt in Philadelphia and she threw me a party and I, seeing all the hints of the impending American bicentennial around the founding city, thought city of Philadelphia had a hand in my birthday party as well. I guess I always had a big ego. As much as I and everyone in my family knew my original birthdate, Mrs. Schreck, the secretary at P.S. # 4 did not. Sure she had access to my original birth certificate, which was conveniently on file, but seeing as she was surely overworked and underpayed and had so many other files to draw up, some measure of error was in order. As a result when either she or one of her wards, created my internal file (Wow! I feel like Huey P. Newton as I am sure he had an internal file, well with the FBI at least.), my birthdate was transcribed as April 23rd. Blasphemy!
No one had been aware of this error until April 23rd rolled around later in the school year. I had been progressing along well and I like my new teacher Ms. Kober and enjoyed my new found friendship with Judy. As was the tradition when each student had a birthday, Ms. Kober would read us a poem, give us a cupcake and let us wear a birthday ribbon. In rolls the morning of April 23rd and Ms. Kober calls me to the front of the class room. I resist, as this is not my proper birthday. But she prods me thinking I am only being shy. I go forward and the class drowns out my tears with the Happy Birthday to You song. I am pinned with my birthday ribbon, handed my cupcake, which was to be consumed only after lunch, and then my special birthday poem is read to me. But the tears don't stop. "But Ms. Kober today is not my birthday" I protest. "LaTasha, but it is on the files (the adult me thinks about what's really in Leonard Peltier's and John Lennon's 'files') as April 23rd" she retorts. "I think they wrote it wrong" I plead "but thank you for all this." I slowly walk to my seat with tears still streaming at the thought of the wrongfull birthday celebration. One of my nearby classmates whispered to me as a I took my seat, "stop crying now you have two birthdays and you get twice as many gifts." The thought of extra gifts does convince me and the tears to cease shortly thereafter.
This began the private and personal tradition of My Third Grade Birthday. I still quietly celebrate it, not only due to Mrs. Schreck's error but also because it is the last day that I will be the current age. The last day that I can ever say when I was 22, 28, 17 or 15 or whatever age I am drawing upon. It is the 365th day of that particular age. April 23rd completes the cycle and allows me a chance to reflect upon the new one I am about to begin. So wherever you are Mrs. Schreck and Ms. Kober, thank you for the gift of My Third Grade Birthday.
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