As I sat down for breakfast in the dining hall at Kent Academy, the air was filled with the chitter-chatter of two hundred boarding school kids. At my seat, a piece of paper two inches square, lay on the tablecloth. Each of my tablemates had one beside their plate, too.

The dorm Uncle’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “The red card at your seat is called a tag. Today the staff in every section will be watching you closely during each meal. If you break a dining rule on Tag Day, you will get a corner torn off. Every time you break a rule, you’ll get another corner torn off. Please use your best manners today.”

Even in third grade, I sometimes forgot my manners and talked with food in my mouth or chewed with my mouth open.  What if I did that today? I don’t want to do anything wrong!

The Uncle’s voice boomed again. “What happens if you get all four corners torn off? Well, there will be the usual punishment for dining hall infractions. You will sift a wheelbarrow-load of sand to help the workers with the building project.”

I spread my napkin carefully in my lap and looked at my tablemates. “Why is it called Tag Day? Tag is a game we play on the playground. We run around and try to touch someone, and when we do, we yell, ‘Tag! You’re it!’”

The blond, sullen boy next to me poured water into his glass. A drop spilled onto the tablecloth. He quickly set his spoon on top of the wet spot. “Well, the Uncle said they’re called tags. All I know is, we have to be perfect all day, or one of the staff rips a piece off.”

Mabel, Mabel, Strong and Able

I propped my chin on the palm of my hand as I worried over this. “But that’s impossible.” I scrunched up my forehead. “It’s going to be a lot of work to watch out all day.”

Right then, the boy grabbed his butter knife. He turned the sharp end toward my arm and slashed my elbow where it rested on the table.

Tears filled my eyes as I grabbed my arm. Choking back a scream of pain, I whimpered, “Ow! Ow! What did you do that for?”

“You’re not supposed to have your elbows on the table.” He grinned. “I was saving you from getting a piece of your tag ripped off.”

Sharp pain shot through my arm. “You hurt me. That was not helpful.” I rubbed the fire-red welt on my bony elbow. “You’re a Big Meanie!”

The other two kids at my table began a familiar chant. “Mabel, Mabel, strong and able. Get your elbows off the table.”

I hung my head and wiped my runny nose with my sleeve. Then I wadded up the napkin in my lap and stared at my hands. Now I’m too scared to do anything. I don’t even want to look at anyone.

During the rest of breakfast, I sat as still as I could and chewed very quietly. I could smell fear mingled with the porridge and milk. Everything tasted like cardboard because my tongue was dry from worrying.

But no Uncle or Auntie touched my red tag.

Will I Have to Sift Sand?

At lunch, I forgot to put my napkin in my lap.

A tall, beady-eyed Uncle glanced at me and walked past our table. Then he turned and pointed to the piece of cloth folded beside my plate. Silently I tugged it into my lap while he picked up my tag and tore a corner off.

Shoot. Such a simple mistake. One corner gone.

Then a new fear flashed through my mind.

If I can’t stay out of trouble, how are my big brother Larry and little brother Mark going to be good enough? 

Larry was in fourth grade, and last year he had to sift sand twice for doing something wrong. I hope he can be on his best behavior all day.

At dinner, I remembered my napkin, and then I relaxed. I was chatting happily when an Auntie stopped at our table. “Debbie, you’re talking with food in your mouth. Please hand me your tag.”

My face flushed with shame. I did my best to keep quiet for the rest of the meal. When we were finally excused, I breathed a deep sigh, “At least I only got two corners taken off. No punishment for me!”

That night, worried thoughts swirled through my mind as I tried to fall asleep. How many corners did my brothers lose? Were they frightened? What will Mom and Dad think if any of us lose all four corners?

Finally, the overwhelming thoughts were overcome by sleep.

Looking Back at My Childhood

In talking with a KA friend, Jeannie Quarles Houghton, she shared similar feelings. “There was no end to the daily demands of life at boarding school. Every aspect had relentless expectations. I was overwhelmed by life there. Even as I write this, I’m getting stressed over what it was like for me and others who didn’t handle well the 24/7 intensity of life at KA.”

The dining room was scary enough without the humiliation of a red tag showing everyone I had failed. Fortunately, the tags were only utilized once a quarter, to the best of my recollection. I never had to sift sand, but many kids did, and I often worried about the embarrassment and isolation of that threatened punishment.

While typing this blog post, I asked my brother Larry if my memory was correct. “Did you ever have to sift sand for doing something wrong in the dining room at KA?”

He texted back, “I built that school with all the sand I sifted!”

My friend Don VerLee contributed his recollections of twenty rules we had to follow to be good mannered and not risk losing a corner of our red tag. Below are a few. Did you have similar rules in your home?

• Keep hands in your lap when not eating.
• Don’t rest your feet on the rungs of your chair.
• Never put your elbows on the table.
• Use your knife to push food onto your fork and never use your fingers.
• Keep your chin over your plate so you don’t drop food on your clothes.
• Eat everything put in front of you.

What I Know Now

Boarding school never felt like home to me. During fourth grade, I finally “settled in” because I was familiar with all the rules. but I never liked living in a dorm. The grief at separation from home and family was suffocating. I constantly carried that sorrow in my heart, even during moments of fun.

Because of the stress, I had trouble eating. I was hungry all the time, but most of the food simply tasted bad to me. Even though it was usually fresh and most other kids liked it, I asked for the tiniest portions. Only bland foods tasted good– buttered rice, potatoes, or noodles. Trying to calm my stomach in the midst of a large, noisy dining hall was impossible.

I was very thin and labeled a picky eater. My cheeks burned each time I heard that phrase. In a well-meaning effort to keep me healthy, the Aunties forced me to eat everything on my plate. However, that increased my anxiety and my aversion to many foods.

At the end of fourth grade, our family flew to the US for furlough. When we stopped in New York, the mission physician, Dr. John Frame, gave each of us a standard health exam. He delivered his medical diagnosis for me: malnutrition. My parents promised to feed me well during the furlough. They didn’t realize I was starved for nurture, not only nutrition.

Today I have a perplexing relationship with food, as many people do. All day I dream about food. I love to eat–but only things that I like–and those selections aren’t always the healthiest. For a few weeks, I’ll eat what I want and put on some pounds. Then I’m ashamed of gaining weight and will restrict for a few weeks or months to lose it.

Link it to Your Life

Were mealtimes stressful or enjoyable for you? What rules did you have to follow, and how were you disciplined if you blundered? What eating challenges or disorders have you dealt with over the years? How have you found healing from these or other painful memories?

For those who have happy mealtime memories, recount your favorite one to us by dropping a comment below. Or perhaps tell it to somebody else in your life today.

Dear Father, thank you for upholding me during those tough times, even though I didn’t know you were there. Give me peace as I sort through these troubling memories and joy as I move forward with healing. Amen.

The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge…  (Psalm 18:2 ESV)

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If you’d like to take a look at another of my dining hall stories, click on “Don’t Cry Over Spilled Milk.

For a descriptive essay regarding the nervous system of a child at boarding school, read Kara Blackmore’s Facebook post.

Late-breaking news, my good friend Susan Lochstampfor Smith (whom I consider the foremost expert on memories of KA) has this update: “I don’t remember sifting sand being the penalty for losing corners. There was candy for those who kept all corners and, as I recall, with each corner lost, one lost a piece of candy. So I’m guessing the possible was a total of 4 pieces.”