The first day of
school
Like a miniature
version of Welcome Back Kotter, my kindergarten class was full of
characters. I suppose I was one of them. I remember the first day
of school, when we were all seated rather randomly at desks or tables
around the room, each one with a weathered, wooden pencil holder in
the front center, the slots far too big for regular pencils. I found
myself sitting with several boys, and somehow the topic turned to
something I thought I knew all about: balls. I knew balls. There
were basketballs, baseballs, footballs, etc. I chimed in excitedly,
"I like balls!" The boys all jeered at me. Panicked, I thought
quickly and added, "Eyeballs!!" They all laughed. I had saved
myself that time. I think I was considered the weird girl from then
on. But from then on, the boys would play with me, and that to me
was a win. Humor seemed to work well in awkward situations.
At one point, we
were all seated in a circle on the floor listening to the teacher,
Ms. McBee, talk about the rules of school. She was a friendly
looking, brown-haired woman, fairly young, though it was hard to tell
from our limited points of view. At that age, everyone older, was,
well, old. My teacher, however, had round, rosy cheeks, smiling
eyes, but a serious expression on her face as she talked to us all.
All but one girl that is, a kind of sloppy-looking brunette with
loose pigtails and a worn dress. She had a big smile the whole time
she played in the playhouse next to us, ignoring the teacher as she
explained to us, "Some people don't know how to follow
directions." I remember thinking to myself, "I'm glad I'm
not that person," knowing full well who the teacher was alluding
to. I think I made a note to myself that I was going to be one of
those people who follow the rules. I think I took this resolve
rather to heart.
At lunch, I was
too scared to eat the foreign school-made food, for a number of
reasons. For one, it wasn't my mom's cooking: what if it was
yucky? Two, I was afraid I'd drop my tray and make a big mess,
something I'd already witnessed while waiting in line. The whole
room clapped when that happened, and I learned another lesson in that
moment: don't get noticed. Well, I brought my own lunch instead,
except for the precious quarter I carried, which was for a chocolate
milk. I loved it more than soda, or even kool-aid!
Not knowing
anybody at this point, I ate my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in
solitude, and then realized with alarm that I didn't know what to
do next. I saw a boy putting his hand in the air, and I remembered
that this had something to do with getting the teacher's attention.
But what would I do once I had her attention? I slowly put my hand
up and then took it down quickly, not sure I was ready for whatever
was next. I decided to watch instead, and soon saw that kids were
raising their hands one by one, and the teachers were miraculously
pointing to them, one by one. The kids would then get up, take their
trays or lunchboxes to the trash, empty them, and leave. I decided
to try it, and put my hand in the air once more. It worked!
Soon I was on
my way, but to where? I decided to follow all the other kids,
because that seemed to work well in the past. We had already had one
recess, and apparently, this was another. I knew the rules of the
playground, because I listened attentively when we went over them,
and I was ready, but I didn't know anyone, except maybe the boys I
had joked with earlier. I would soon develop a crush on one of them,
but that's a different story. On this day, I remember the Slide.
It was huge, must have been a couple stories high (or at least 15
feet), narrow, metal, and straight down, no curves or twists, or even
side rails, besides a low edge on either side. The staircase was
almost straight up, with metal steps that led upward into adventure,
or doom. The rule was, only one child on the stairs at a time, at
the top, and the next kid should wait at the bottom, because there
wasn't really room for more than one at the top.
But kids were blatantly ignoring this rule! They were clambering up
the steps, barely staying in one straight line, in a mad rush to get
to the top. Perhaps I exaggerate, but I remember everyone wanting to
be first, a common theme in life. I didn't care if I was first,
however, I cared that I was right. Only one person at a time on the
slide, the next person can wait on the first step but no higher! I
told them this repeatedly, but no one listened. This also seemed to
be a common theme in my life, but that too is another story. I would
learn throughout life that people often didn't follow the rules,
because rules, like people, are subjective.
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