Susan Lamb was the perfect third grade girl.  Besides having the perfect name, she was pretty, smart, polite, friendly and blonde.  Her cotton jumpers were always perfectly pressed. Her symmetrical ponytails curled ever so slightly at the ends. Her lacy white socks were always perfectly folded above her perfectly polished shoes. And her smile was perennially sweet.  In other words, she had “teacher’s pet” written all over her. Fortunately for Susan, our third grade teacher was the crotchety, old Mrs. Armitage. So instead of hating her, we kids felt sorry for Susan having to be the pet of our repugnant teacher. Our compassion for Susan was understandably limited, of course, because she had also been the second grade teacher’s pet and would probably be the fourth grade pet, as well.

Naturally, all the girls wanted to be her friend. Who wouldn’t?  Beside the fact that friendship with Susan carried quite a bit of prestige, unlike most third grade girls she never said anything hateful. No one really cared that she didn’t make interesting conversation or that she was just too clean to play with.  Just sitting next to her at lunch was an honor. I remember watching Susan and her friends chew their bologna and American cheese sandwiches demurely and giggle delicately, while I wolfed down my peanut butter and jelly so I could grab a swing before they were all taken. I’m sure my passion for recess did not put me in good standing with Susan’s set, but Susan always treated me as if I were a friend.

My mother had arranged with Susan’s mother to take me to school whenever the weather was too bad.  Consequently, I loved thunderstorms. Mrs. Lamb had the most exciting car in the world:  a Volkswagen bug. Traveling by bug is rather like riding inside a covered bicycle, you’re never completely protected from the elements.  I remember bumping along in the Lamb’s family bug to Longfellow Elementary School during a torrential rain. Not only did the wind and thunder shake the tiny vehicle, but the pelting rain seemed it could penetrate the dome-shaped roof at any time. A satisfying number of raindrops were able to make their way through the windows that never completely closed, spraying our faces with a gentle mist. The thing that made these rides the most exciting, however, were the eight or nine other third graders all crammed into the cab. The discomfort of having two or three other eight-year-olds sitting on one’s lap was almost possible to ignore as we laughed and sang and joked our way to school together. The very best thing about that Volkswagen was that it had two beige plastic straps on either side of the cab, which lucky kids got to grab on to and pretend they were in a crowded subway or a cable car. Mrs. Lamb was surprisingly tolerant of noisy children, and she even joined in the fun by making precariously sharp turns so that the kids hanging onto the straps got the full effect. Susan Lamb had the perfect car and the perfect mother to go with it.

My envy of Susan might have come to a head on Valentines Day that school year. Naturally, Valentines Day was also Susan’s birthday.  As all children know, there is no more perfect day for a birthday than Valentines Day.  Christmas is no good, because everyone forgets your birthday.  Every day in December and the first week of January are out for the same reason. Summer birthdays are iffy, because you never know who’s going to make it to your party. And all spring and fall birthdays have no special meaning.  Having a birthday on Valentines Day, on the other hand, is both practically and symbolically significant.  You had an automatic party at school every year when kids passed out their Valentines cards. And a Valentines birthday meant that your mother loved you enough to have you on the day most closely associated with love. This meant that God and all His angels probably loved you, too. I had about the worst birthday possible: June 13^th. It was an unlucky number and it was usually the last day of school.  Who’s going to remember to sing happy birthday to you when in a very few hours everyone will be reprieved from school for an entire summer?

Our third-grade year Susan’s Valentines/birthday was more wonderful than all school Valentines parties and birthday parties put together. Instead of the same old boring cupcakes other mothers send to school, Susan’s mother had made each third grader an enormous sugar cookie with each person’s name beautifully inscribed in red icing. I remember staring at the lovely cursive letters that formed my name, feeling like Mrs. Lamb probably loved me, too. I have never heard a more rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” than the one we sang to Susan. That day no one was envious of Susan. Those sugar cookies with our very own names on them made us all vicariously experience her mother’s love. It was the most perfect day in third grade for all of us, not just for Susan.