I was so excited to go to kindergarten that I almost made my parents crazy.
On the first day, I was wearing a church dress and new shoes. I was so proud of those black patent leather shoes; they were so shiny. And just like a raccoon who collects sparkly things, I couldn’t take my eyes off them.
When we got in line to go to the cafeteria for lunch, I found myself standing just behind a neighbor boy named Jeffrey. Suddenly, Jeffrey burped, and then threw up on my brand-new shoes.
School went downhill after that.
I thought kindergarten was rather boring. I already knew how to tie my shoes, I knew the alphabet, I knew my colors and shapes, and I could count to twenty. The only good thing about school was playing house with Jeffrey…I forgave him for ruining my shoes.
But there was one thing I didn’t know, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember…my birthday.
Every single tortuous day, my teacher had us line up after recess, practice tying our shoes, count to twenty and recite our birth date. Then we could get a drink of water.
Dying of thirst, I would stand there, impatiently jumping through all the academic hoops, until it came to the birthday thing. It stumped me every time.
My teacher always took pity on me, told me my birth date, made me repeat it, then let me get water. It was frustrating.
First grade wasn’t that great either. I already knew how to write my name and was learning to read quickly. I got tired of waiting on the slower readers and drew pictures. The one time I decided to entertain myself by bringing my Barbie to school; the teacher took the doll away from me, called my dad and made me stay after school.
Nope…I didn’t like school at all.
In the second grade, I decided to join the Brownies…a junior Girl Scout club. My parents scrimped and saved to buy me the brown uniform and the little brown felt beanie that sort of made me look like a giant acorn. But we moved away, and that didn’t last long.
I began to like school in the third grade because my teacher had baby turtles and would let us play with them before eating lunch. We never washed our hands. Even better, I got to ride my bike to school, and in the winter, we were allowed to go sledding behind the cafeteria during recess.
At that time, lunch was 25 cents, and ice cream at school was 10 cents.
I wanted a lunch box, so my dad began packing me a lunch…a meat sandwich, a small container of applesauce or a banana, and cookies. He always made sure my thermos had Kool-Aid or sweet tea, and I was a happy kid.
Of course, I broke a thermos at least once a month. They were made out of glass on the inside.
In the fifth grade, I received a paddling at school for throwing paper airplanes out of the window. The principal lined me up along with three boys who were also guilty and paddled us all.
Times sure have changed.
How in the world did I survive school? With broken glass thermoses, vomit, paddling, sugary Kool-Aid, turtles, sledding, and a host of other death-defying experiences, it’s a wonder I am alive today.
It’s a shame that kids have to be so careful these days. They miss out on a lot.
Oh, yes. And bookbags? In my day, no one would have been caught dead carrying one. You would have lost your “cool” image forever.
