As much as I hated being away from my mother, I loved my kindergarten with the same intensity. There was nothing like leaving the nostalgic embrace of my mother and turning around to see the ceiling, covered in white textured tiles that were held prisoner by strips of silver that encompassed all four corners. Those same tiles that hid a world full of naughty sprites, inquisitive fairies, and elusive unicorns unbeknown to the typical human eye pinched the ocean blue streamers in place as they awed their glittering paper prizes over our tables, all around the one big room we shared together from nine am until six pm every day. The cut-outs always varied in color, shape, and size, and were usually determined by which season we were in. My favorites were always the snowflakes.
"No two snowflakes are ever the same, just like none of you are exactly the same. No, not even you two," she pointed to the only set of twins in the class. I loved everything about Mrs. Jefferson, but most especially giving her a hard time. It was the sole purpose of my five year old self--to give everyone and everything hell. For extra fun, I would chase the girls around the playground with daddy long legs just to hear them scream. The boys thought I was funny; the girls not so much. Regardless, I think my teacher adored me with the same passion I adored her.
She didn't take any fuss from me ever. My mischievous soul had to run off and do exactly what she said not to do. She didn't withhold the punishment either. The one time I played in the toilet, I took a nap on my little blue cot in the bathroom.
Most of all, she loved to sing us songs. These were songs she would make up, songs we knew, and songs we didn't know. It never really mattered as long as we were singing together. Her love for song would play an important role my whole life, but on one particular day, it became the single contributing factor to overcoming a fear.
I remember the day clearly. My mom had dropped me off, a little later than usual. The classroom smelled the way it always smelled--like chalk, melted crayon, and nauseatingly sweet permanent markers. The brown tops of the folding tables we called our desks basked in the sunlight that played tag with the green curtains hanging in the windows.
Everyone in the classroom had a chore. Every day, the chore changed. This particular Friday gloomed a little darker, even the sunlight's sporadic dance throughout the classroom seemed suddenly sinister after I looked at the chore chart. There it was in bold dry erase marker:
The corners of my mouth trembled, heading south quickly. Salt did a waltz with my eyelashes. The vacuum loomed closer, and a single crocodile sized tear trekked down my face.
"Oh, dear. What do we have here?"
A small finger, lifted, shaking, pointing at the intrusive beast in her hand.
"What? This?" followed by a soft chuckle when a small head nodded in affirmation. "This is just a vacuum cleaner. It's favorite food is dirt. It's a noisy eater. Watch!"
A second tear followed the trail left by its predecessor as the red beast loomed closer, arrogant in its loudness, boasting of its prize.
"Oh I see. Listen!"
The beast roars again, only this time I hear Mrs. Jefferson singing along.
"Listen!" She calls again. "Jesus loves me this I know..."
"Listen!! Everybody sing! Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so, little ones to him belong...Can you hear it, Stephanie? Listen!"
And I did.
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This week's memoir prompt was to remember kindergarten.
Concrit is welcome and appreciated!
--Stephanie, AKA The Drama Mama
"No two snowflakes are ever the same, just like none of you are exactly the same. No, not even you two," she pointed to the only set of twins in the class. I loved everything about Mrs. Jefferson, but most especially giving her a hard time. It was the sole purpose of my five year old self--to give everyone and everything hell. For extra fun, I would chase the girls around the playground with daddy long legs just to hear them scream. The boys thought I was funny; the girls not so much. Regardless, I think my teacher adored me with the same passion I adored her.
She didn't take any fuss from me ever. My mischievous soul had to run off and do exactly what she said not to do. She didn't withhold the punishment either. The one time I played in the toilet, I took a nap on my little blue cot in the bathroom.
Most of all, she loved to sing us songs. These were songs she would make up, songs we knew, and songs we didn't know. It never really mattered as long as we were singing together. Her love for song would play an important role my whole life, but on one particular day, it became the single contributing factor to overcoming a fear.
I remember the day clearly. My mom had dropped me off, a little later than usual. The classroom smelled the way it always smelled--like chalk, melted crayon, and nauseatingly sweet permanent markers. The brown tops of the folding tables we called our desks basked in the sunlight that played tag with the green curtains hanging in the windows.
Everyone in the classroom had a chore. Every day, the chore changed. This particular Friday gloomed a little darker, even the sunlight's sporadic dance throughout the classroom seemed suddenly sinister after I looked at the chore chart. There it was in bold dry erase marker:
Stephanie--Vacuum
I checked it again, this time by placing my finger beside my name and following the line across to make sure I wasn't making a mistake. It was no mistake. Her perfect penmanship had made those decisive strokes on the chart. My beloved Mrs. Jefferson had a fault. My whole world dropped out from underneath me.
The corners of my mouth trembled, heading south quickly. Salt did a waltz with my eyelashes. The vacuum loomed closer, and a single crocodile sized tear trekked down my face.
"Oh, dear. What do we have here?"
A small finger, lifted, shaking, pointing at the intrusive beast in her hand.
"What? This?" followed by a soft chuckle when a small head nodded in affirmation. "This is just a vacuum cleaner. It's favorite food is dirt. It's a noisy eater. Watch!"
A second tear followed the trail left by its predecessor as the red beast loomed closer, arrogant in its loudness, boasting of its prize.
"Oh I see. Listen!"
The beast roars again, only this time I hear Mrs. Jefferson singing along.
"Listen!" She calls again. "Jesus loves me this I know..."
"Listen!! Everybody sing! Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so, little ones to him belong...Can you hear it, Stephanie? Listen!"
And I did.
This week's memoir prompt was to remember kindergarten.
Concrit is welcome and appreciated!
--Stephanie, AKA The Drama Mama
