At the beginning of my 6th grade year at Twelve Mile Elementary school, our new school bus driver, to my surprise and delight, was a girl. She lived in Pickens, and she drove by my house early and then passed the school on her way to completing the route. I would board the bus, and sometimes I would ride the complete route and get off at the end with the rest of the students. Occasionally, I’d get off the first time she swung by the school, and I would be the first student at school. As the school year progressed and the weather got colder, I would build a fire in each of the three heaters in the classrooms. Thus having the rooms warmed when the bell dinged at 8 a.m. Here to fore each teacher had to build their own fire.

Although I used wood to start the fires, they required lots of coal to heat up the upper portion so that heat would radiate throughout the room. On extremely cold days I recall some of the girls sitting up close to the heater studying while wearing their gloves, scarves and overcoats. They looked much like some of the early immigrants to Alaska in the 1800s.

Well, the principal, Mrs. Annie Durham, came to me one day and offered me a deal. She would pay me 10 cents per day to build fires in each classroom.

Since I was already building the fires anyway, I jumped at this deal and accepted it immediately. I was really proud to be the only kid in elementary school with a paying job.

I could envision buying a new truck or maybe even a pair of shoes that fit. All kinds of possibilities roamed through my young, business-minded head for that 50 cents each week.

However, when I told Daddy about this great contract with easy money, he said I could buy my own lunch from then on because it only cost 10 cents each day.

He never gave me any more lunch money. Dads certainly have a different way of looking at things than kids.