On a hot morning, my class rode in an old bus to the Alamo. It was not as exciting as I had imagined it to be. In my mind, the Alamo would be big, sitting out in the middle of the desert.
In reality, it seemed quite small, dwarfed by the large, city buildings all around it. We spent time inside, taking a tour. There were a lot of flags and glass boxes that contained historical items.
In reality, it seemed quite small, dwarfed by the large, city buildings all around it. We spent time inside, taking a tour. There were a lot of flags and glass boxes that contained historical items.
The Alamo visit was followed by a picnic lunch, and then we were on our way to a bakery. As the bus parked in front, the smell of fresh bread hung heavy in the air. The tour guide walked us through the kitchen, and we saw each step of the baking process.
With promises of fresh bread when we returned, we walked across the grass to the old, original bakery building, and waited in the hot sun while the iron door was unlocked. Inside, there were large ovens and a few long, wooden tables that had been left behind when the transition to the new building was made years earlier.
The tour guide shared the history of the buildings and business. I'm sure I would find it all fascinating today, but at four years old, I only had eyes for the spiral staircase in the corner.
"Are we going to climb up that?" I whispered to my friend Maria, gesturing to the staircase. She answered with a shrug.
I stared at the big ovens, imagining fires burning and bread baking - imaginations made easier by the smells floating through the air from the building next door - until the word "staircase" quickly brought me back to reality. We would be going up.
Maria and I grinned at each other as we waited our turn to climb the stairs.
Step by step.
Halfway up, I reached out my hand to touch the wall, and green paint flaked off onto my fingers, revealing the white stucco underneath.
We found the top floor to be empty, except for several wooden chairs. The ceiling was low. This did not bother me, as I was quite short (the way four-year-olds tend to be) but I noticed my teacher was slumping over just a bit. We walked across the room to the exit, and instead of another spiral staircase, there was a hole in the floor with a ladder leading down to the room below.
One by one, we climbed down the ladder. I followed Maria, careful to not let my fear show through as I placed my foot on the first rung. "Hurry up!" I heard a small voice call out, above me, but I ignored it, and moved slowly down the ladder, breathing a sigh of relief when I reached the safety of the ground floor.
We returned to the bakery for our promised bread, fresh out of the oven. Eaten outside, under the shade of a large tree, the bread was so warm and fluffy, it nearly melted in my mouth. We piled into the bus, each holding a loaf of fresh bread to take home, and headed back to the school.
When my mom picked me up that afternoon, and asked how my trip to the Alamo went, I answered her by announcing that one day I wanted to live in a house with a spiral staircase and light green walls.
Red Dress Club Prompt:
School trips. We all go on them. What trip do you remember the most? Write a memoir post about a memorable school trip.
Do you have a favorite memory of a class trip? When my mom picked me up that afternoon, and asked how my trip to the Alamo went, I answered her by announcing that one day I wanted to live in a house with a spiral staircase and light green walls.
Red Dress Club Prompt:
School trips. We all go on them. What trip do you remember the most? Write a memoir post about a memorable school trip.
Image Credit - Flickr - OZinOH
