kinder gartener
Kindergarten was interesting. At least what I remember of it. We were living outside of Dallas TX at the time. My folks were learning all about linguistics I was learning how to ride a bike. I’m sure my brother was also learning something life changing at the time but it’s harder enough to remember the details of my life, so Ben if you read this could you comment on how formative that year was for you?
It was my first year in school and coincidentally the first time I ever went to see a school psychologist. It later became the second time as well.
I’m not sure why my caring and wonderful Texan of a teacher sent me off to see the school psychologist but I’m sure she did it with all care and compassion that the state that brought us the letter W could muster.
On my first visit I was asked to draw a picture. As I recall I was given a blank piece of paper and some crayons and a little end table to work at. I drew a picture and then we talked about stuff. I’m guessing it was related to how I behaved in class, but maybe he wanted to know more about Noah’s Ark, cause that’s what I colored. And I’m pretty sure that since it was a public school I wasn’t directed towards a picture with biblical theme. Although, have I mentioned this was Texas? So there it was a big rainbow and a boat. I’m guessing our little chat ended with me being sent back to class, but it could’ve ended with him saying the Jesus prayer, I really can’t remember. The best part about fuzzy memories is making up the details.
Later that year I remember having trouble getting off the bus because my shoe laces were tied together in a huge knot. I had also experienced trouble getting on the bus. And to the bus for that matter. In fact everything after circle time was a bit tedious and clumsy. Apparently my teacher was teaching me a lesson in natural consequences. Or she was really sick of my shenanigans. Either way I made it home and I think my Mom ended up getting out a pair of scissors. I think she also checked out a few parenting books. Classics like Dobson’s Dare to Discipline. Can you blame her?
I’m guessing it was around this same time that I got to make my second trip to the psych ward. This time I was given clay. (My mom confirms these two little trips €“ often in public €“ but I’m starting to wonder if I just wandered out of class and into the second grade room during their art time) Anyhow, I was given clay and told to make something. It was modeling clay, not play-do. The kind that’s kind of waxy and hard to work with at first but by the time you work out what you want to make it’s too pliable and is stuck under all of your fingernails and leaves bit of residue on the table top. I’ve been told I came home crying that day. You would have too if you were trying to make Jesus and his arms wouldn’t stay up.
Praise the Lord I survived to see First Grade.