Yesterday morning I watched
the neighborhood moms marching their kids to school. There were legions of them,
both moms and kids. The elementary school is located just west of a busy intersection.
So I understand why the moms walk their younger kids to school. But I sometimes
wonder how the older ones feel about that.
My mother walked me to
school only once, on my first day at kindergarten, back in the Early Jurassic Period.
My memory of that day has blurred
over the years. I'm sure that I looked forward to going to school. However, even
at the age of five, I was quite independent and liked being able to roam the
neighborhood, within boundaries of course. I must have suspected that I would have
to give up some of my freedom for a few hours a day.
I never will forget sitting
in that kindergarten classroom surrounded by squeaky clean kids who, were
dressed to the nines. Some of my new classmates looked bemused; several of them
wept quietly. Others were sobbing as though they thought the first day of
school was the end of the world.
In hindsight, I guess it really
was the end of my (preschool) world as I knew it.
But there I was, sitting at
my pint-sized desk, squeaky clean and dressed to the nines. I don't remember what I was thinking. I probably was bored
out of my mind and eager for my education to begin. On the other hand, maybe I
was plotting my escape.
I do remember that I was totally
mystified by the kids who ran sobbing to their moms standing at the back of the
room. I’m pretty sure some of those moms were sobbing, too. My mother wasn’t
one of them. I know Mom missed my being around after I started school, but it’s
not like I was her only child. I had two brothers, one of them less than a year
old.
I
thought, What is wrong
with these kids? I’ve waited five years to get away from home.
