It was the most important day of my young life and I was bursting with anticipatory energy. I was no longer a baby, no longer a toddler, no longer just a small, purposeless person. I was finally old enough to go to school! My mother was taking me enroll in kindergarten. I was very proud.
My mom helped me put on my new long pants (real long pants!) and shirt and my new shoes and socks. She combed my hair and made extra sure that I finished all my breakfast. It was very difficult for me to allow this lengthy preamble to the great activity of the day. I wanted to get my coat and hat on and begin the long journey around the corner to the school.
I had seen the school building before and had even played on the swings in its playground. It was a huge, red brick structure with tall imposing windows that curved at the top. I always wondered how the windows could open and close with those curved tops. The young people entered through doors at one side of the building; the older kids at the other. I had never been inside.
My mom held my hand and we walked through those huge doors with giant brass handles and then into the kindergarten classroom. There were people everywhere! I’m not talking about adults, those strange creatures who either took care of me or ignored me. These were people, children my own age; real people.
After talking with my brand new teacher, my mom bent down to say goodbye to me. What did she mean, goodbye? It had never occurred to me that she would leave me alone in this strange place, at the mercy of adults whom I didn’t know and with so many people, all of whom seemed to already have formed groups that excluded me. This was not acceptable and I froze.
As she left, I fled to the cloakroom, perhaps to find my coat so I could follow her. Perhaps just to hide. The cloakroom was a kind of walk-in closet, a long narrow corridor lined with coat hooks on each side. It had an entrance at one end and an exit at the other. Since I had begun school in January (don’t ask) the cloakroom was filled with coats, hats and boots. It was dark and secluded and fit my mood and my needs exactly. It felt safe.
After a while, I peeked out of the cloakroom to see what the people were doing. They seemed to be having a great time playing with blocks and toys, most of the girls in one area and most of the boys in another. I began to feel silly and ashamed of myself for hiding in the cloakroom, but couldn’t find a way, gracefully, to leave it.
Soon, the teacher, a very kind woman with a soft smile, gathered the people in front of her and began to read them a story from a picture book. I slowly crept out of the cloakroom and stood behind her, looking over her shoulder at the pictures. When she noticed me, she quietly asked if I’d like to join the other people.
With a sense of relief and joy, I rushed to sit with the others and listen. After the story, we all sat on the floor in a circle for our activity. We passed a large bottle half full of milk around the circle, each one of us shaking it a bit until it became butter.