3. People’s School
Entering a People’s School on September 1, 1973, marked a significant transition in my life. I was no longer a kindergartener but a full-fledged student of a People’s school. It felt like a major step towards becoming a grown-up, as I now carried a backpack to school instead of being led by my mother’s hand to the kindergarten gate.
My mother and I had enrolled in school two days before the official start date. During that time, I had the opportunity to meet my homeroom teacher and my future classmates. They informed me about my class assignment, the location of my classroom, and the procedures for entering the school.
The day before school officially started, there were some preparations to be made. Book covers needed to be wrapped, a pencil case needed to be filled with sharpened pencils, and I needed to gather essential school supplies like an eraser, crayons, and colored paper. My brother and an older sister took care of these tasks for me. At that point, my oldest sister had already enlisted in the army, and my second older sister were part of a group dispatched to a construction site. With the two of them gone, my household now consisted of seven people: my parents, my third older sister, my older brother, my younger sister, my one-year-old younger brother, and myself.
The spirited little girl was causing a commotion about heading to school with a proper school bag, and this transition from childhood innocence was causing my parents great anxiety.
To ease our parents’ worries, my older sister and brother gathered all my school supplies. “You’re not a kindergartener anymore; you’re a student. Make sure to behave, alright?” My sister cautioned with a firm tone. I nodded, but it fell on deaf ears. While I often bickered with my immediate older brother, my older sisters always spoiled me, and I followed their lead. My sister’s scolding to stop playing like a young foal came across as a form of affection, so I simply nodded, albeit half-heartedly.
As for me, going to school was like going on an excursion to a new world. On my first day, I went holding my mother’s hand. The way to the school was crowded with new and existing students. First-year students like myself had a flower on their shirt.
A steep hill led to a village road, which in turn led to the communal school playground. On either side of the playground stood the High Machinery College (고등기계전문학교) and the People’s School (인민학교), facing each other. A stone wall encircled the school’s playground, separating it from the road. I clung tightly to my mother’s hand, feeling overwhelmed by the vast crowd. It was a stark contrast to the cozy, small-knit kindergarten I had come from.
At the entrance of the People’s School, a banner hung proudly with the message, “Thank You, Dear Father Kim Il Sung!” Just beside it, there was a decorative floral gate adorned with placards that declared, “Long Live Socialist 11-year Mandatory Education!” and “We Are Happy!”
Amidst falling flower petals and applause, the new freshman students assembled on the ground as per the instructions of their homeroom teachers.
The entrance ceremony proceeded with speeches from the school principal, a student representative, and a mother of an outstanding student. After the ceremony, both students and their accompanying parents were directed to their respective classrooms by the homeroom teacher.
Above the blackboard hung a portrait of Kim Il Sung. Desks and chairs were neatly arranged in rows, running in parallel. Towards the rear of the classroom, there were coat hangers and shoe racks for storing shoe bags.
Every student was required to have their own shoe bag, a rule strictly enforced by the school monitors. Students without a shoe bag were not permitted to pass through the school gate. Once inside the building, students changed into slippers and stored their outdoor shoes in their respective bags, placing them in the designated shoe racks. It was a tradition that had been upheld in many North Korean schools until that time.
Shoe bags were typically crafted at home from old cloth since they were not readily available in stores. Most were sewn by hand, but I proudly carried a well-sewn bag made by machine (as we had a sewing machine at home). Even though my mother had many children, she showered us all with equal affection and care, making every effort to ensure we were dressed and well fed so we could present ourselves in the best way possible.
First graders began their first class with their parents present. However, once the parents left, we were on our own. My gaze remained fixed on the window, where I watched my mother depart alongside other parents. Suddenly, I felt out of place and a sense of sadness crept over me, missing the comforting presence of my mother and the affectionate kindergarten teachers. It was quite awkward to be surrounded by unfamiliar children and a new teacher. The initial excitement of becoming a student faded away as my mother walked out of the school entrance. I paid little attention to the teacher’s explanations from the lecture desk. Since it was the first day, we were dismissed after only two hours of class. I wasted no time in rushing out of the classroom as soon as the teacher allowed us to leave.
The road between my home and the school was a steep hill. Nowadays, it’s been paved to create a smooth surface for cars, but it was a very inconvenient route back then. The road turned icy in the winter so it also caused many injuries to the students.
I dashed through the school gate and raced home, ignoring the calls from those behind me. As soon as I arrived, I burst through the front door. Inside, my mother was busy folding laundry. Without responding to her warm greetings, I dropped my bag in my room and slumped down.
“Did you have a good time? Why does my young colt look so unhappy?” she asked, her smile softening my silence and despondency. I remained still, offering no response. She gently stroked my head and headed outside with my youngest brother on her back. It was a harsh realization on my very first day of school – I was no longer the child who could sneak out of nap time and play in my father’s office. Instead, I was now a student expected to study diligently and lead a structured life. And so, my life as a student officially began.
My time at school became quite enjoyable as I completed my first year and entered the 2nd grade. My spirited and playful nature remained unchanged, and I continued to get along well with the other kids. Additionally, my school performance was decent.
During the winter, the school would spread water on the playground, and we learned how to skate. My older brother, who was already in the 4th grade when I joined the school, gracefully glided across the ice in skates our father had purchased for him in Pyongyang. Watching him, I couldn’t help but feel envious, and I began to pester my father to get me a pair as well. Eventually, he gave in to his persistent daughter, promising to buy me a pair on his next trip to Pyongyang.
Whenever my brother was not at home, I borrowed his skates and glided across the frozen river. The expansive river in front of our house transformed into a glistening ice rink in November, making it the ultimate playground. After finishing dinner, I would rush to the river. During the winter break, children spent entire days by the river, enjoying activities like sledding and skating.
In the winter of my second grade, my father returned from Pyongyang with a special gift – ice skate blades. Unfortunately, small-sized skates were not available at the store. Two days after his business trip, he presented me with a pair of skates he had crafted himself by attaching blades to a pair of shoes. From that moment on, I became utterly engrossed in skating, devoting all my time to it. At first, I stumbled and fell repeatedly, but soon, I got the hang of it and could skate fairly well.
My mother, concerned that I was neglecting my studies in favor of skating, asked my brother for help. My brother, known for his kindness and gentle nature, became a hero-like figure at that time. He took on the responsibility of keeping a watchful eye on me, making sure I stayed seated until I had finished my homework for the day. Teasing me became a playful activity for him.
My brother’s middle school was practically in our backyard, less than 100 meters away. From home, I could hear the school bell ringing and the sound of students studying. It seemed like my brother had a lot of free time since the school was so close. He attended and eventually graduated as the top student from the entire People’s School, earning a reputation for his academic excellence at the middle school.
He would often shake his head at his younger sister who was completely absorbed in play. Thanks to his intervention, I was only allowed to go out and play after completing my daily homework.
Time passed, and I entered the third grade. This was the year when we could join the Children’s Union (소년단). Students with good behavior and grades were admitted to the Students’ Union on April 15, which was Kim Il Sung’s birthday. The remaining students joined on June 6. Only Union members were allowed to wear a red tie, so those without the tie felt a sense of embarrassment, as it indicated poor grades. I proudly wore the tie on April 15.
Once new members were admitted, the School’s Union Committee elected a representative from each class, and this marked the official start of members’ participation in organizational activities. Each class was divided into 6-7 groups, and I was appointed to lead one of these smaller groups.
As Union members, we had the privilege of taking part in the Enthusiasts’ Election (열성자 선거) for the School’s Union Committee (소년단위원회) and engaging in various organizational activities.
My group members were a bunch of spirited kids from the same neighborhood, and we got along wonderfully, studying and playing together. No one was ostracized for things like school grades.
During those days, both children and adults were instilled with the idea that society was akin to a family rooted in the principles of communism. Our Union group members stuck together from day one until graduation, commuting together and studying side by side. My school life was incredibly enjoyable.
I particularly enjoyed studying Korean, music, and physical education. In fact, I consistently had the highest grades in these subjects throughout my time at the People’s School and Middle School.
Winter was my favorite season of the year, perhaps because it was the time when I could indulge in skating. At the close of the first semester in the 3rd grade, my teacher made an exciting announcement – there would be a skating competition involving schools from our province. She picked me and another student to represent our school in the contest. This skating competition was set to take place in 1976 as part of the Lunar New Year celebrations. Everyday I practiced for the competition from sunrise to sunset during our winter vacation. My unwavering determination to win drove me forward. Thankfully, my parents wholeheartedly supported my endeavors, and my brother played a crucial role by skating with me.
On the day of the competition, I headed to school with my skates draped around my neck. The entire school then made its way to the city’s central stadium named the Ssarambak Stadium (싸람박경기장). In 1960, Kim Il Sung visited this stadium and today it was transformed into an ice-skating rink, thanks to students in the town collectively pouring water onto the field.
The scene was absolutely enchanting, with the ice glistening under the sunlight. The majority of participants were fourth graders, and my classmate and I were the only third graders representing our school.
The competition got underway with resounding cheers from the students, each school fervently supporting their own. I was competing in the second 100-meter sprint event. With my heart pounding in my chest, I gave it my all and managed to outpace the other students, finishing in third place.
My heart swelled with pride as I secured a top-three finish among the many skilled skaters from various schools around my city. A fellow student from my school claimed second place. When the entire stadium erupted in applause, I felt like I was soaring through the skies. I was immensely grateful to my father because he crafted a well-fitted pair of skates for me.
Even now, as I approach my 60th year, the memory of that skating event remains indelible and vivid.