KINDERGARTEN

Starting school was an adventure.  I was in a class full of strangers, mostly bigger and older than I.  That I was shy and small for my age was compounded by school district policy.  A child who turned five before December 1st of the school year qualified for kindergarten.  My late October birthday meant I was in, but also meant that only those rare individuals born in November were younger than I.  Meanwhile kids with birthdays in December or January were almost a year older.  If I had been in a district where you had to be five to start kindergarten, my pre-adult life may have been vastly different.  Rather than one of the youngest kids throughout my school years, I would have been one of the oldest.  I can say from personal experience that school bullying, so prominent in the chattering media today, existed in schools nearly 50 years ago in essentially the same form.  Not often in kindergarten, but still there.  By temperament, I was inclined towards avoidance rather than confrontation.  There are those rare small people who thrive on taking on the big, bad guys in any context.  Not me.  My skill was to avoid, hide, look small.  I survived.

MY TEACHER

There was one guiding star in that kindergarten world: my teacher, Miss Stoner.  For the first few days of class, we picked our own spots on the big, square rug that filled the center of the room.  Once I discovered how nice my cute, blond-bobbed teacher was, I wanted to be front and center.  So, I plopped myself as near to her as possible when I sat to start the day.  However, class administration took precedence over student enthusiasm.  Towards the end of that first week, we were arranged alphabetically by last name, which placed me near the back of the class.  By the following Monday, I had forgotten.  A not-yet-five-year-old has more important things to think about over the weekend.  When the bell rang, I dashed in to claim my spot in the front, only to be gently reminded of my assigned seating.  Disconsolately, I trudged to the back row, far away from the reassuring smile.

WHAT I LEARNED

The typical day was simple.  I would usually arrive early enough to catch some swing time on the playground.  At the sound of the bell, 25 or so kids would file into the room and find their name-designated locations on the carpet.  Our teacher would take role.  Then we would do something all morning until nap time.  I don't remember specifics.  Clearly, the intellectual stimulation of kindergarten was not vital to my future scholastic achievement.  Or perhaps I just don't quite understand something the early education experts know.  I vaguely recall sitting in a circle on the rug to listen to a story read by the teacher.  That was nice because once in awhile I would get to sit closer to her than the new standard seating arrangement allowed.  We did a lot with large pieces of paper and crayons, sitting at the tables on our little wood and metal chairs.  Two art projects that year established a trend for my educational experience.  One, a picture of a red-winged blackbird, won first prize at the school exhibit for our grade level.  The other, a picture of my Dad, caused some embarrassment when the teacher pointed out that I had drawn him in a long skirt instead of long pants.  My school years were marked by this combination of scholastic achievement and social awkwardness. 

NAP TIME

I wonder if kindergarten students still nap at school.  That is, as part of the planned curriculum.  Naps were no longer a part of my routine when I started school, so I was perplexed to learn I needed to take a large towel to kindergarten.  The towel was marked so I could identify it and stored in the classroom.  In the early afternoon (after lunch) each child would fetch their towel and jockey for spots on the rug, roll out our towels, and lay down on them.   Two things would happen after I laid my little head to rest.  First, I would watch the legs and feet of my teacher as they moved in and out of my peripheral vision while she patrolled the rug to make sure we were all quiet and still.  The key was to have my eyes closed if she happened to look my way.  Otherwise, I would be subject to a quiet reprimand.  The second event was being roused out of contented slumber by Miss Stoner telling me it was time to go home.

MILK

Another ritual of the kindergarten day was buying a half-pint of milk at lunch.  Part of my daily preparation for school was to make sure I had the requisite nickel in my pocket.  Those milk purchases were important to me.  Days when I didn’t have that nickel threw off my equilibrium as I watched the other kids line up to select their ice-cold wax carton out of the crate.  There was something reassuring about popping the little circular lid off the top of the tall, narrow carton and taking a swig of milk.  It was probably some government dairy subsidy that made the milk available, but my kindergarten mind wasn't bothered with such considerations.

SWINGS

Flying in a swing is one of the great sensations of childhood: a taste of freedom and adventure, within closely defined boundaries.  School provided daily swinging time.  Of course, depending on how you left the swing, it wasn’t always safe.  Once you learned how to swing, the next skill to learn was the flying exit, where instead of dragging your feet and slowing to a stop, you timed your leap from the saddle at some midpoint in your forward swing.  Too early and you are just propelled forward in a staggering walk at ground level with the swing tagging you in the back or head.  Too late and you end up with a vertical exit and hard landing.  If you do it right, you make a nice flying arc and land with your feet moving to the applause of your imaginary audience.  Additionally, I discovered how to swing standing up and ‘bumper battles’ where you and the person in the swing next to you grab onto the support poles on either side and then let fly at each other.

That was the sum of my kindergarten experience: a cute teacher, crayons and paper, story time, milk, and swings.  Though I searched the campus diligently for her the next school year, I never saw Miss Stoner again.  Mom later informed me that she was no longer Miss Stoner, but Mrs. Somebody and had left me to my own devices.  In looking back on my class photo, I was struck by how much my teacher resembled my wife.  In addition to being cute, my wife is also extraordinarily nice, has a great smile, and occasionally sends me to the back row when I get out of line.  Some men marry their mothers, one could say I married my kindergarten teacher.