This week, our town went back-to-school, and being a teacher, I joined right in. As I watched the first day of school hubbub, I couldn't help but remember my own first day, twenty-fve years ago.
I was as ready as I could have been. New clothes, a Holly Hobbie lunchpail, a backpack too large for my little body. All summer I had looked forward to this day, which is why––I am sure––no one knew what was coming. Not even me.
My mom held my hand, and together we walked across the playground toward the kindergarten classroom. In the doorway stood Mrs. Gomes ready to greet us and welcome me into her class. As we moved closer, my excitement began to fade, and in its place surfaced slight panic. And then desperation. I grasped my mom's hand tighter, feeling my tiny five-year-old heart beat inside my chest. The closer we edged, the more my stomach looped itself into knots. We were only a couple of steps away, just seconds from crossing the threshold, and I knew: I was not going to let go. At the very least, I was not going to let go without a fight.
What should have been a simple pass-off (mom gives me a kiss good-bye, I bounce into my new classroom) turned into a screaming, flailing tantrum. I clung to my mom's shirt, sobbing, begging her not to leave me. When my teacher attempted to pull me away, I gave her everything I had. I kicked her, scratched her, and bit her. But despite all my effort (and believe me, it was valiant), Mrs. Gomes managed to separate me from my mom, and somehow in all that chaos, I was put in the closet.
Yes. A closet. A dark, dusty, dungeon of a place. (Actually, it was the tiny room where the teacher curriculum was stored, and it even had a small window. But still.) Mrs. Gomes put a chair in there, said I could come out when I was ready to be a kindergartener, and closed the door.
I don't remember much from kindergarten. Bits and pieces, really. I remember nothing else at all from that day, not even mom coming to pick me up. But I remember the fight, and even more clearly, I remember sitting in the closet.
I stared at the window and thought, I will never come out. Never ever ever. And I will never forgive my mom. Never ever ever.
The thing is, though, it's boring in a curriculum closet. And lonely. And I could hear voices of kids in the classroom, and they seemed to be having an all right time. So I wiped my tears, stood up, and opened the door. I was ready to be a kindergartener.
Mrs. Gomes acted like nothing had happened, just welcomed me into her class. And wouldn't you know I loved my first year of school.
We'd love to hear from you! Share your or your kid's first day/back-to-school stories. (They don't have to be this violent!)
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| My sister, cousin, and me, blissfully enjoying life before school. |
My mom held my hand, and together we walked across the playground toward the kindergarten classroom. In the doorway stood Mrs. Gomes ready to greet us and welcome me into her class. As we moved closer, my excitement began to fade, and in its place surfaced slight panic. And then desperation. I grasped my mom's hand tighter, feeling my tiny five-year-old heart beat inside my chest. The closer we edged, the more my stomach looped itself into knots. We were only a couple of steps away, just seconds from crossing the threshold, and I knew: I was not going to let go. At the very least, I was not going to let go without a fight.
What should have been a simple pass-off (mom gives me a kiss good-bye, I bounce into my new classroom) turned into a screaming, flailing tantrum. I clung to my mom's shirt, sobbing, begging her not to leave me. When my teacher attempted to pull me away, I gave her everything I had. I kicked her, scratched her, and bit her. But despite all my effort (and believe me, it was valiant), Mrs. Gomes managed to separate me from my mom, and somehow in all that chaos, I was put in the closet.
Yes. A closet. A dark, dusty, dungeon of a place. (Actually, it was the tiny room where the teacher curriculum was stored, and it even had a small window. But still.) Mrs. Gomes put a chair in there, said I could come out when I was ready to be a kindergartener, and closed the door.
I don't remember much from kindergarten. Bits and pieces, really. I remember nothing else at all from that day, not even mom coming to pick me up. But I remember the fight, and even more clearly, I remember sitting in the closet.
I stared at the window and thought, I will never come out. Never ever ever. And I will never forgive my mom. Never ever ever.
The thing is, though, it's boring in a curriculum closet. And lonely. And I could hear voices of kids in the classroom, and they seemed to be having an all right time. So I wiped my tears, stood up, and opened the door. I was ready to be a kindergartener.
Mrs. Gomes acted like nothing had happened, just welcomed me into her class. And wouldn't you know I loved my first year of school.
We'd love to hear from you! Share your or your kid's first day/back-to-school stories. (They don't have to be this violent!)
