“Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.” ~Pierce Harris
Many years ago, in a place far from here (well, three hours by car), I went to kindergarten.
Can you find me?
Kindergarten was a half-day affair in those days, and I went to afternoon kindergarten. My mom had heard that afternoon was the class that the more impressive parents chose. Was this true? I don’t know.
I remember show and tell. My friend Anita kept bringing things for show and tell that I thought were really pathetic, and I remember asking my teacher, Mrs. Wintin, “Why does Anita always bring such bad things for show and tell?” She wisely replied, “Maybe that’s the only things she has.” I remember this seeming like a really deep insight to me. It was definitely not anything I had considered.
I remember us practicing writing our numbers, and Rex having real issues making “1.” I just couldn’t understand how drawing a vertical line could be difficult.
Our kindergarten room had a large, awesome playhouse. One day I was playing in this playhouse with my “husband,” Stewart. We were moving the furniture away from the walls to clean, when we discovered some awful black stuff all over the playhouse wall. It turned out that the playhouse was infected with termites, and it was off-limits for a while after that.
We always had “milk time,” when two students would pull a wagon down the hall to the cafeteria to get milk cartons for the class, and bring them back for us to drink. One day, I opened my milk, and then had to go to the bathroom so I left it there. When I returned, I couldn’t remember where I had sat with my milk and I couldn’t find it. Finally I just took another milk and drank it. After this, we sat on the floor for “circle time.” Mrs. Wintin spotted my original, mostly full milk carton on the table and asked whose it was. Fearing I would get into trouble, I kept quiet. She kept insisting that whoever left that milk carton confess, and that we would not continue until she knew. Now I was really afraid! I was sitting there, sure she could tell that it was me, but I didn’t confess and we did eventually continue on.
Okay, in the picture, I’m in the 2nd to back row, 2nd from the right. I did NOT like that dress – it had a tie on it, which I felt made me look like a boy (along with my short hair, which I disliked as well, but that’s a topic for another day!). I always dreamed of being one of the little cute girls who got to sit in the front row. But alas, I was always big ‘n tall and usually ended up in one of the back rows. I look so … forlorn in this photo, and I notice that in many of my childhood photos. I don’t recall feeling unhappy, so I’m going with the theory that I’m just lost in my thoughts. That is entirely possible 🙂
What memories do you have of kindergarten?