Feb. 1, 2006

Our epic journey began like any other. The troops were assembled, the goal conveyed silently because words weren&8217;t needed.

We were in the depths of the cavern and we knew what we had to do.

But mere seconds into the assignment, we faltered &8212; a bathroom break.

The captain sent them in five at a time, boys in one door, girls in the next. Trooper Thomas cost us valuable seconds when he sidestepped through a door without properly identifying the gender it was intended for. His head quickly popped back out to make the necessary ID. All was as it should be.

We replenished ourselves from the stream and looked ahead.

Next, an uphill battle (stairs folks, come on you should be catching on by now). Here we met another battalion heading to their assignment. The narrow incline became quite cramped.

We were rejoined by one of our own (Walter had been with another teacher).

At the top of the mountain (the main floor of McLaurin) we made a startling and saddening discovery. We&8217;d left one of ours behind (Jimmesha was still in the bathroom).

We had no choice but to press ahead and pray she&8217;d make it out alive (she did).

Around the bend we found a much needed morale boost &8212; General (PE Coach) Charlie Williams stood by for supportive handshakes.

We sent Trooper Destini into headquarters (the office) to get our final orders, and we were on our way.

Then the distractions came. A solider from another infantry (a cute little girl) came walking by, and I&8217;m sure Trooper Jesse lost his focus on the task at hand.

Next came the long lost sister of our Trooper Brianna, greetings were exchanged, but we rallied and moved on.

We were oh so close, but trouble was brewing &8212; infighting.

There were threats and allegations from the front of the line. Trooper Destini claimed Walter slapped her (an internal investigation came up with an insufficient amount of evidence either way). The captain separated the two.

Ah, the homestretch. We were going to make it. We were making good time now. The scenery on the sidelines (other doors on the fourth-grade hall) whizzed by.

And then, the journey was over. The fourth-graders collapsed in their seats, and Mrs. Tuccio began the math lesson (measuring wooden blocks.)

In all, the trip from music class in the McLaurin basement to Mrs. Tuccio&8217;s room took about 10 minutes.

From my first day at McLaurin I&8217;ve been fascinated with the little lines of students going this way and that way much of the day. They go to and from special classes each day, to and from lunch and recess and across the hall to their team teacher once a day.

They have three rules for hallway travel (they know them, I don&8217;t). They aren&8217;t allowed to lean against the wall (which I always catch myself doing).

The McLaurin hallways are very wide and tall. And I think, in my mind and the minds of the students, they represent freedom. You are no longer confined to a classroom. There&8217;s a long stretch of great running room in front of you. And eventually, they all lead to the exits.

I guess that&8217;s why the teachers try their hardest to enforce the military-like line formations in between classes.

But, it&8217;s the alone times &8212; the times when you aren&8217;t with your whole class &8212; that you really feel the freedom.

I wonder if anyone has ever made a break for it.

Julie Finley is the education reporter for The Natchez Democrat. She writes a weekly column based on experiences with Marty Tuccio&8217;s homeroom class at McLaurin Elementary. She can be reached at 601-445-3551 or

julie.finley@natchezdemocrat.com

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