My First Day of School Blues (i.e. Five-Year-Old Agony)

With school starting in a few days, I have been thinking of my years in the classroom. For most of the 13 years that I attended public school, the first days of each year were nothing less than a nightmare for me. Let me explain. I know you want me to. :)

I like to be at home. People who aren't my family scare me a little (or a lot) before I get to know them (or learn to avoid them at all costs). This is not new. It has always been.

Kindergarten messed with that. Big time.

Come to think of it all of the other grades did that too.

I remember visiting kindergarten for the first time clutching my mother's hand. The kindergarten classes were held in what I can only describe as a house trailer pulled onto campus. We climbed the steps together and we walked in the room. I remember hula hoops in a box under the windows that were letting in bright sunshine to our left. I loved hula hoops and sunshine as long as they were at HOME. Here they mocked my pain.

We made our way to the front of the room. I tried with all my might not to break down like the girl who was crying so hard that she was hiccuping. If she was that upset, it must be as bad there as I thought it would be. Maybe Mama wouldn't leave me.

Even though I ended up loving my teacher, I didn't know her yet and on that first day it did not help matters that she penciled on VERY arched eyebrows. Like there was no real eyebrow left. Just enormous arches above her eyes. My mom hardly wore any make-up so to see this face fully and deeply painted was a bit shocking to me. She might as well have been green because this is the image I saw:

We were introduced and then I was shown my desk. And then the unthinkable happened. My mother left me there. All alone. Well, the 25 other kids and 2 teachers didn't count.

I couldn't help it. I began to cry. I was silent though. No wails or hiccups. Just restrained misery.

Somehow I made it through that day.

Guess what?

My family expected me to go back.

I know.

Horrible.

Guess what?

This time I had to ride a school bus.

Yes.

Horrible.

The only help was that my big sister, Emily, was with me. We stood at the end of our long driveway waiting at the crack of dawn for the large yellow bus to come and take us to the torture chamber some referred to as school. We would turn back and wave to my encouraging, smiling mother (whom I now know being a mother myself had to be the most stouthearted mom alive to pry me off of her leg everyday. I'm so sorry, Mama) and my oh, so fortunate little sister, Rachel and brother, Seth. How good they had it. Home. All day. Bliss.

Ms. Tammy was a great bus driver. She turned out to be a long-suffering one as well. Because we were some of the first riders on, and probably because of my pitiful look, I got the seat right behind her. She probably regretted that move later. I felt I had no recourse but to stand behind her, cry and beg her to take me back to my mama. I knew how I would handle Mama if she would just take me home. I could walk in and say, "Well, I had to come back. The bus driver wasn't going to take us to school. Now let's have no more of that nonsense. Who wants to go play?"

Now that I'm grown up I realize how patient Ms. Tammy was and how kindly she dealt with me. It was an hour long bus route--one hour to drive a filling school bus and to listen to me blubber behind her. God bless her.

She tried at first to tell me how much fun I would have. "Kindergarten is so fun!" I didn't buy that. I'd been there already. She didn't know how awesome home was. She would go on to say that she couldn't turn the bus around. The kids had to go to school. After that didn't work, she just said, "I'm sorry, sweetie" a million times until we got to school.

Emily would walk me to my class (as she did every school day until the middle of my first grade year when my teacher told her not to anymore--Insufferably mean woman) and I reluctantly let her leave me after the teacher told me to let go of her so she could go to her class. I can still remember the sick feeling that rose from my stomach and lodged in my throat. I would just try to stare ahead of me and not talk because the hot tears were spilling. (The hiccuping girl didn't cry anymore after the first day. So that just left me to be the big baby.)

Something miraculous happened during the day though. I must have had fun. Something took my mind off of the homesickness and when the day was over, the hard-hearted Ms. Tammy who wouldn't turn around that morning became the most wonderful woman in the world in the afternoon. She was taking me HOME!!

In recompense for the morning hysterics, I stood behind her and pulled out her gray hairs. It was ok. I just found them and then she would say, "Girl! Pull that out!"

I'm glad that I had some redeeming qualities (gray-hair plucker) and that she was a mightily understanding woman because even though the crying and begging only lasted several weeks, they returned with each fall. That's right. I cried for at least 2 weeks of the beginning of every school year until I was in the 6th grade. (That was the year that my mom became a teacher and taught across the road. Ms. Tammy must have had a shouting party when she saw her route assignments that year.)

All of you who love having my mom as a teacher can send me a thank you note. I feel like God probably said, "Sheesh! She isn't going to quit being a scaredy cat so I'll just have to send her mother with her." He's benevolent that way.

Yes. I cried when I went to college too. He sent me Kristen that time. 


(You must know that my kindergarten teacher became so special to me. I would never want to hurt her and I hope if she ever sees this that she knows that a 5 year old's perception of things can be a bit off. Also the "insufferable mean" first grade teacher has a little bit of my heart also. She knew I was the most scared kid alive and she hoped to help me by making me more independent. As you know by reading this, it didn't work, but God bless her for trying.)

I hope that this does not scare any parents sending their offspring to school for the first time this year. If it makes you nervous, just think about how well I turned out. 

Spreading hope. 

That's what I do.

Photo courtesy of imdb.com