… Was a true passage for me. I was actually a Kindergarten dropout and I
washed out early, but more about that below.
In the late 1950s, public schooling did not include Kinder. Any Kinder program existing was little more
than glorified babysitting or an early form of mother’s day out. Kindergarten programs were private and
usually offered through the local churches.
I followed Wes into the Terrell Hills Baptist Church kindergarten on Harry Wurzbach Highway just down the street from Fort Sam. Parents had to pay for the program. Did Kindergarten really help that much? Yes and no.
Yes, Kindergarten does give children a good head start in socialization
and separation from their mothers. It
allows most students to learn their basic numbers and letters. But are most children really mature enough at
that level to learn? Maybe half of them
are. There is research out there that
indicates there really shouldn’t be that much hard core learning at the age of
five. Many youngsters just are not
cognitively prepared for it.
I was in that bottom not ready half and and so were some of my future high school classmates: Steve not only refused to start school, but climbed a tree in his yard and refused point blank to come down.
It all began going South for me with the red
birds, the blue birds and the black birds.
As we lined up outside with all the other mothers and children outside
the church’s double doors on the day of enrollment, I was dancing with
excitement. My brother had already
finished his tour at Kinder and was now enrolled at Wilshire Elementary. It was my turn at last! No longer did I have to stay in the car with
my mother while brother Wes skipped into the building to have fun all morning
and play with his friends. I was
especially jealous of the mini-cans of thick, sweet pineapple juice that were
brought every day for a snack. My frugal
mother declared that the Pineapple juice was for school only, not for me at
home. And the little cans were just our
size, and straws were used. Straws were
glamorous. My mother considered them an
extravagance, and we never used them at home.
At the enrollment table, the staff was passing out
stencil cut small paper birds in red, blue or black. This was their method of sorting the children
into classes. As a child enrolled and
paid, he was handed a colored bird. All
the red birds gathered into one class, all the blue birds gathered, etc. I was DESPERATE to be a red bird. I loved red birds. They were my favorite. I just had to be a red bird. Wes had been a red bird. I would have settled for being a blue bird
too. I could scarcely breathe as my turn came up
and I was handed ….. a black bird.
It was all downhill from there. I grudgingly joined the other black birds,
gazing over at the lucky red birds and blue birds. It was so unfair! We were led away by our teachers and began
our first days and weeks. We learned how
to hook up our pinkies and thumbs and sing itsy bitsy spider. We sat on our behinds and whirled around on
our bottoms on the linoleum floor singing “chase your tail kitty.” I performed all of this grudgingly, all the
while wishing I was just home playing in the dirt.
I was a black bird and could not get over it. Cheerful children like my future Wilshire friend,
Debby, with good attitudes were made into “willing workers.” I was not included in this group. They probably took out the trash, or held the
door open for the teacher. I should have
received the sour puss award.
I did enjoy juice break. I had my mini cans of pineapple juice at
last. The cans were carefully stored in
the church kitchen refrigerator and when it was juice time, the staff would
bring them all out and pop them open noisily with a metal can opener. Our mouths watered as the straws were passed around and we drained our little cans.
The play yard was enjoyable too. It was small but well-equipped. There was a huge Mother Hubbard’s shoe for us
to crawl around it. There was also a lot
of rocks and gravel in the play yard. I
soon became the school yard judge of which rocks were pretty and should be
pocketed and taken home as prizes, and which were not and should be thrown back
on the ground.
No one remembers, not even my mother, how long it
was before I began throwing my rare temper fits and howling in the car when it was time
to be dropped off at Kinder. It was
probably within a couple of weeks. As
all the young mothers were carpooling in the neighborhood, it was quite an
embarrassment for my mother to have to peel me off her legs. I was not a difficult child, but I had a will. For a while she forced me on into the school,
but soon gave up and took me out.
I never regretted it for a moment, and being a
low-maintenance child, it was no problem for my mother to simply keep me at
home where I played cheerfully by myself most of the time. I probably should have been forced to stay a
while longer, but I was awfully young and probably simply not ready to separate
from my mother. I was an August
birthday, and only seven days over the hump between the 4th and 5th
birthday.
Would I have made it if I had been a red bird or
even a blue bird? It’s an interesting
question.
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