Excerpt:
1 September 1969
The first day of school certainly produced anxiety. What struck me about the first day in Oslo and the new neighborhood was bigness and hugeness. There were long, big blocks along a busy street , Kirkeveien (Church Road). My mother, brother and I passed a big park. We took a left down a side street and there it was: A gate in the middle of a stone overhanging structure. Above it, the sign: Majorstua Skole. There were three windows on each side of the entrance with metal bars. We walked through the gate. Wow! There was this immense cobblestone and cement schoolyard with trees scattered about and a statue in the middle. There were so many different entrances, labeled from A to F, or was it H? There was a tunnel like walkway that wound from the entrance to the right, quite a distance, and then made an L turn to the left and went farther until it met the side of the building.
Somehow we found the correct entrance, I think it was B, and found the principals office. Mr. Sandersen was a very nice man, balding with white sideburns. I would be placed in one of the sixth grade classes, my brother in third...English is taught as a mandatory language in Norwegian schools beginning in fifth grade. The students in my class would have a year of English behind them. My brothers classmates would have none or TV English. Majorstua would provide a Norwegian tutor for the two of us.
We went to our classes. My teacher was a nice man, who unfortunately would be leaving in several weeks. He told the class, which was all boys, to welcome the American student and make him feel comfortable. Norwegians start school a year later than Americans, so the boys in my class were 12 and 13 years old.
One immediate difference was classes were 45 minutes long and there was a 15 to 20 minute recess after each class, outside, rain or shine. This was a nice day. Soon the schoolyard was full of students for my first recess. Beside the steps were water fountains with about six spouts. The Norwegians seemed to be always eating at recess regardless of the time. They werent eating sandwiches. There was only one slice of bread with no top, open faced. Salami or cheese (often goat cheese) seemed to be the popular food for the bread. The kids were eating enough of them, and with a recess at every hour, they must be full.
The schoolyard represents so much in a childs life. Sometimes it is more important than what happens inside the building. So many conflicts, interpersonal competitions, attitudes, friendships are developed. Ones self confidence can grow or deflate. The schoolyard, the arena of acceptance and rejection, belonging and alienation. For boys, much of that can happen at recess, and revolves around sports.
That was true for me back in Philadelphia. I was intensely interested in sports, but a great athlete I wasnt. In the schoolyard, I was in that category of being among the last picked for fistball (baseball by hitting a rubber ball with your fist. We also called it handball).
Now, here I was in a schoolyard in a foreign country, not knowing the language and there were new and different sports. It would be a miracle if I cracked these lineups.
At least my classmates knew some English, more than enough for us to find out each others names. There was Jon, Jan Christian, Per Erik, Nils, Sven, Tony, Christian.
Then, I was asked by some of the boys in my class to play in the fotball game they were forming. A goalie stood in front of the open door of a fence. We all headed in the same direction and played with a tennis ball. I think I may have scored a goal! The game ended and we returned to the classroom on the third floor of the D or B entrance.
As first days go, this certainly wasnt bad.
My father started his new job just two blocks from the house. His hours would be 8:303:30. No 9:005:00 in this country it seemed.
For my mother, it turned out to be a struggle on the first day or at least in preparing the first dinner. She declared we should eat out. Of course, the question was where? We either walked or took a tram (trolley).
We also had one of our first cultural lessons in Norway. The Norwegians eat dinner middag, literally, midday, early, between 4:005:00 p.m., which is why work ends at 3:30. Consequently, dinner in restaurants was also served early and then they close. We had quite a bit of trouble finding a place that was open. We finally found a cafeteria.
Afterwards, we walked around our new city and met an American couple vacationing from Minnesota. How about that on our first day? We talked with them for a while. He was a big fan of the North Stars hockey team. Then we went our separate ways. They would be going back to the United States, while we were just beginning in our new world.
September 1969
Sometime in that first week there was a track meet against another school in the Frogner Stadium, a few blocks away, next to the Frogner Park. I cant remember if I barely won or lost my 100 meter race or was it the 60 meters? I also remember playing in a soccer game in the Park one evening. I seemed to be blending in well during the first week. Winning or losing wasnt important, but the chance to participate and feel a sense of belonging in a new culture was important. My parents were surprised when I came home from school one day and sounded like I was speaking Norwegian. I had picked up the Norwegian accent and was speaking English with the accent.
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