Someone asked me recently if I was the class clown when I was a kid.
Not even.
I mostly worked to be invisible.
To disappear.
That was safer.
I remember kindergarten. A brightly colored place filled with children. A chair of my own. A space of my own. My first school. I was so excited!
I had two teachers, whose names I have forgotten. One a tiny blond woman and the other an enormous black woman who filled my vision when she stood over me. There must have been a moment when I loved them . . . they were my first teachers, and I was the sort of little girl who was yearning to love and be loved.
There must have been love.
There were perhaps 20 children in the class, all lined up in neat rows of child-sized tables and chairs. Windows lined two sides of the room high up on the walls, and sunshine streamed into our space. The door to our room opened not into a hallway, but into outside space.
I do not remember ever being aware of the rest of the school. We were in our own little kindergarten world. Apart.
We colored and practiced letters and numbers. We glued. We cut things out with scissors. We played with blocks. We listened to stories. We followed directions and stood in line and drank water from the drinking fountain, careful not to touch our lips to the faucet. We talked and giggled and skipped and ran and whispered secrets into one another’s ears.
Kindergarten.
We would sometimes not listen as well.
We would sometimes get on our teachers’ nerves.
We knew because they would tell us that we were getting on their nerves. In increasingly loud and angry voices, they would tell us that we were getting on their nerves.
But because we were kindergarteners, their angry words would not silence us.
We would grow nervous and antsy and whiny and upset.
Our teachers hated that.
And so they would begin to talk to one another as though we were no longer there. About how they had better things to do than sit here and take crap from us. About how they were not getting paid enough money to deal with all that was so very very wrong with us.
And they would pull the shades closed over all of the sunny windows.
Switch off the lights.
The room would turn a dark shadowed separate gray.
Cooler somehow.
Our teachers would open the small closet at the front of the room. Take out their coats. Their purses.
Our teachers would pull on their coats as they talked about how we needed to learn a lesson. They would reach into their purses and pull out their keys. Jingle them.
I can hear those keys so clearly.
The larger black woman would tie a scarf around her head. The smaller blond woman would button her coat.
They were going home.
We could just sit there until the next morning. Maybe that would teach us some respect. Some manners.
And then they would leave.
We would listen to the key in the lock. Hear their footsteps as they walked away.
The first time this happened? We sat in our chairs and cried. All of us cried.
Perhaps five minutes elapsed.
Five excruciating abandoned minutes in which we wept and trembled.
And then the key in the lock again, the lights switched on, the shades opened. Tissues passed to the snottier among us. Reassurances offered . . .
On with the day.
This happened many times.
And each time, they would stay away longer than the time before. Long enough that we would one by one fall to the certainty that we had been abandoned and locked in this classroom. One by one, we would start to cry.
Contagious tears of panic and fear.
I would lay my head down on my arms and squeeze my eyes shut against the sounds of the other children’s crying. Squeeze my eyes shut against the separate shadowy gray of the room.
Tears flow freely even when your eyes are squeezed shut.
Sigh.
Our teachers always came back. But we always believed they would not.
We were kindergarteners.
We seriously thought this was how kindergarten worked.
Sigh.
I have had many teachers since then.
But those first teachers reinforced a lesson I was already learning at home.
That it was better to be invisible.
Safer that way.
Years later?
I met a little girl who was convinced she was made of soap. She would run water on her hands and show me how she could make bubbles by rubbing her hands together. She was insane, obviously.
But I thought she was a magical genius.
This girl of soap.
What with her ability to slowly?
Disappear.
Damn! What a bunch of reckless b*tches! I am a teacher and I am in shock. Man, you had it tough right from the get go. Kindergarten is suppose to be a soft safe place.
What’s weird?
This could never happen today, I don’t think. Most kids come into kindergarten with preschool experience and a knowledge of what to expect from school. They would speak up if their teacher locked them in a room and threatened to leave them there.
And some of us did mention the problem to our parents, but no one took us seriously.
And we weren’t sure that there really was a problem.
So we stopped mentioning it.
All I was doing in kindergarten was kissing girls.
I know this is a surprise to no one.
Snort.
No.
I am not surprised.
Yes well.
I was ahead of my peer group.
It’s my curse.
You are gifted.
Always.
I knew that.
You know, you really have a way of making me want to go kick some ass. Boo-Yah! Facepunch those asshats.
I have no idea what happened to those women or where they are now.
They built a new school that was completed during my kindergarten year. We were all moved to the new building, and I never saw those teachers again.
But I am pleased to have riled you up today!
Yay!
There must be someone in your life who needs an ass-kicking.
Go!
Use that energy!
You’ll see me on the news.
In stripes, and those aren’t flattering to the figure.
I will be watching for you.
Big love, babe.
I remember my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Matthews. I also remember when my friend, Brad, decided to lick the metal railing on a really cold day. It got stuck. We all stood around, cheering him on to “just pull it off.” Mrs. Matthews came running to his rescue with a cup of warm water.
Five year olds are evil.
What’s that movie . . . A Christmas Story . . .
There is a fabulous scene in that movie of just the sort of image you describe.
But no . . . five year olds are not evil.
We’ll have to agree to disagree on that point.
A Christmas Story is my favourite holiday movie of all time! We watch it every Christmas eve, and all sing along when they go the the Chinese restaurant for Christmas dinner! Our dinner is smiling at us!
Fa ra ra ra ra!
Yes, I know A Christmas Story well. When I became friends with Brad on Facebook, I reminded him of my memory. He said it was pretty bad that the only memory of him I had was straight out of a scene from a movie.
It’s not really the only memory I have of him.
And…I can’t wait until six.
Are you still home alone?? Please call me!!
That was lovely.
Talking to you.
I do sometimes need to be bossed where the telephone is concerned.
Love you.
I can’t tell you how much this angers me- to.my.core. Unfortunately, I seem to be endlessly coming across examples of horrible teachers. Teachers who seem to hate children and finds every opportunity to make the children know that. As a teacher? This makes me sad. There are so many children that come from homes where they are made to feel worthless, like you were, and all they need is someone, anyone, to believe in them, to love them, and to treat them with respect and that should be what teachers bring to the table. Sure we are responsible for academic stuff too, but do you know how much more we can teach when the kids feel safe and cared for? Ugh…I need to go kick something.
Kick something.
Then come back.
I will wait.
I’ll be right here.
Love you.
Jesus Kris that is just horrifying. Unbelievable that that could happen CONTINUALLY and no one did anything about it.
I have one vivid memory of kindergarten where a friend and I got in trouble for talking. As punishment, she got stuffed UNDERNEATH the teachers desk in the part where the teachers legs went. I can still see her sitting under there looking terrified. She had the worst home life with an abusive asshole for a father. It’s almost like the teacher knew it and just made it worse on purpose. Like “well she’s getting it at home so lets just pile on some more and see if she can take it.” It was awful. Will never forget it. Ever.
That is a horrific story.
And horrible too, the truth in your words . . . that some children, having been made a victim at home?
Trigger something evil in bullies they encounter.
SIgh.
Your story resonates with me, sadly. In first grade, I was new to town, and struggled with what was later diagnosed as a learning disability. But I was a typical, sweet, cute 6 year old little girl. My teacher was young, I think her first year. At the start of a spelling test I whispered to the child next to me if I could borrow a pencil. This pissed off the teacher and she made me get up, took me to the kindergarten wing of the school, to the outer area where all the coat hooks where, saying I did not belong in first grade since I did not know how to behave and so I had to go to kindergarten. She left me, all alone in that cloak room outside the kindergarten. I cried and cried. Did not know what to do, and was so afraid of going home and telling my mother i got sent to kindergarten because I was not good enough for first grade. Do not remember what happened net, how I got on my bus at the end of the day.. but the next day I went to my first grade class, praying my teacher would not “remember” that she sent me away and I as not supposed to be there anymore. The bitch. Amazing the cruelty and pain adults can inflict on innocent young children. The repercussions from that were long lasting. Long. Screw her.. I grew up, became a kindergarten teacher, and I have keep that memory inside me. No matter how frustrated I get at a student, I would never, ever say anything hurtful or unkind.
I have no words.
So proud that you are now a kindergarten teacher, and that the memory of that abuse?
Has made you so aware of the sensitivity of the children you encounter.
Our pasts make us who we are.
But damned if some of that making doesn’t hurt.
Love to you.
OMG… those teachers were awful!
I love your attention to details!
xo
Thanks, babe.
Thank you very much.
I just wrote out a big long thing that ended up sounded lecture-y so I deleted it.
I hate wasting words.
But it was preachy and I couldn’t get to the point I wanted to get to. So I’m not subjecting anyone to it.
But I hate wasting words.
It feels irresponsible.
These words will do just fine.
Love you, responsible grown-up you.
Very much.
WTF!?!
What, if ANY thought process could gave been going on on their tiny brains!
Besides terrifying a class of 5 year olds? It makes one wonder if they had kids of their own. And how were they treated?
I knew nothing about them other than that they were my teachers.
But I do sometimes wonder about them.
What came next for them.
Holy Hell as an ECE I want to hunt them down and kick them. ARRRGGGGGHHHH!!!! What goes around comes around… hope it did to them tho NOT their children.
M
Yes, me too.
Why on earth did you have the damn bad luck to draw the deSade twins for Kindergarten teachers? How did they get away with this sadism, day after day, and (I’m sure) year after year? It’s parents who don’t listen to or believe their children I guess. Big sigh.
I was not there for an entire school year.
And I have no idea how long they taught before our class, or how long they taught after our class.
There was a new building being constructed. Much administrative excitement, I am guessing (although I had no awareness of that when I was a child).
So no one was paying much attention.
And yes . . . sigh.
Those teachers did not deserve to be teachers. Teaching is a gift. A talent and a passion obviously many lack. Those two deserve no credit….on the other hand I had an amazing first grade teacher. She named her first daughter after me and came to my wedding many many years later. She was the kind of teacher every child deserves.
I have had fabulous teachers as well.
Many of them.
And I am so very glad that your experience was so powerfully positive.
That is awesome.
Wow. Just wow. My memories of school are sweet and bilingual and colored paintings and dollies and first crushes. I’m sorry that for you there were moments of tears and hurt. But you said it best when you said that our experiences make us who we are: even the hard ones. That’s SO true. Thanks for sharing, as always!
Thanks, you.
I had other lovely teachers over the years.
And when we switched buildings? I had a lovely Kindergarten teacher for the remainder of the year.
I have many fabulous memories of school.
But my first impressions?
Were not good.