“I’m not gonna stay!” I whined as my mother walked me into the classroom where I was presumably to remain for the afternoon.

 

            “It’s okay, Georgie is here and there are lots of kids to play with!” 

 

            “I’M NOT STAYING HERE!!” 

 

            I was having none of it! After long minutes of me whining and sulking, my mom and Sister Margret Mary, who kept a toothy smile during my tantrum, conceded that it might be better if I went home and we would all try this again tomorrow. That sounded good to me too, so back to the car we went. 

  

            In the hours before in that late, warm September morning, my mother came down back porch stairs to corral me for clean-up. She said that I had to wash for school. My cousin Georgie— more like a brother to me, and I were about to begin kindergarten at the parochial school adjoining the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Morristown.

 

            For years, my cousin and I had been listening to the older kids talking about school life and the ill-tempered nuns who ruled it. We knew our day was coming, but nonetheless, it was an unwelcome surprise. 

 

            After washing even my feet, putting on socks and shoes, clean “church clothes’” and having my hair combed with a wooden brush, Mom drove us to school and brought us into the classroom. The other kids were our size and age all right, but there were so many and I didn’t know any of them!  

 

            Sister Margaret Maria was a smiley, tan-skinned lady completely covered in black with a white frame of what looked like pastry paper surrounding her face. I wouldn’t go in. I didn’t go in. George stayed there that afternoon, but I went home with my mother and was reassured for the rest of the afternoon by she and aunt Taggie that kindergarten was a perfectly safe and n enjoyable place to be. The next day, without incident, I walked in with Georgie, was introduced to the class, and assigned to table number seven.  

 

            Kindergarten was a nice enough place. We all had to wear cardboard crowns with a unique picture label pasted onto the front. My crown sported a beautiful red cardinal sticker! The same picture that was on our crowns identified the important components of our world in this school, such as our box of crayons, cloak hooks, and the door to our storage cabinets. 

 

            Our crowns were kept in our storage cabinets that we shared with an invisible counterpart from the morning sessions. The other cardinal, whom I did not meet until first grade, was a boy named Thomas Kenny. I knew this because I accidentally wore his crown, which was uncomfortably small. Sister Margaret explained the mystery of the second crown in the storage cabinet. Our crowns were our shields, our coat-of-arms, not the kind that warded off arrows and such, but the kind that identified us to the world, complete with all of our accomplishments-- designated by shiny, paste-on stars, and failings-- documented by punched holes through the cardboard. I never got a hole in my crown and won two sparkling red stars!

 

            A lot of “firsts” happened in my young life during kindergarten.  My first best friend in school was Michael Smith. Green became my first favorite color. The cardinal was, of course, my first favorite bird. My first crush (Valerie), my first missing tooth, my first school picture, and the first time I had to button my own coat, were among the highlights of my very first year in school! 

 

            My many social handicaps also presented many “firsts.” Having grown up under relentless teasing and bullying by older cousins, I developed introverted, non-involved aloofness as a defense mechanism. While this served a purpose at home, it only isolated me at school. When left on my own, I was very content to play by myself. While the other boys made impromptu teams for building projects with wooden blocks, I would play by myself with the tinker toys. When joined by others, it was often a bother because all the good sticks and wheels would get used up. But kindergarten was supposed to be about social interaction, and Sister Margaret Maria always seemed to have an activity that would keep us involved with each other. We colored together. We painted together. We put our heads down and took naps together. 

 

            I remember the class Halloween party. I had a pirate costume with spangles on the cardboard hat that my Mom had sewn on. Everyone looked so strange! Apple juice, cookies, and homemade cupcakes added some zing to that school day. It was great fun to see kids being someone or something else!

 

            After that Halloween, we had our mid-semester shift. The kids in the morning and afternoon classes changed sessions. The best part of that deal was having a lions’ share of the daylight left after school. Mom had a car then, so Georgie and I were chauffeured to and from class each day. If the car weren’t running, we would walk the distance with an older cousin or neighbor. Shortcuts across rail yards, people’s lawns, stray dogs, and stops at one of the corner stores for a soda added to the adventure, so we didn’t mind very much when there was no car.

 

            During recess, we herded outside to a large macadam courtyard with designated areas for each class.  I used to look for my brother Frankie, who was seven years older, but only remember seeing him once. He was standing in line with his classmates wearing blue suede shoes. He caught my eye, smiled and snapped his shoes together, like a blue-footed duck! He must have been in seventh or eighth grade and was, in my eyes, the coolest guy ever! 

 

            School had created new, comfortable routines for me. When morning sessions ended, I went home had lunch while parked in front of the television (when we had one that worked), then changed out of school clothes, went outside to play, and got real dirty again! 

 

            After Kindergarten finished, we were told that we were going into first-grade and would have be in school ALL DAY! We going to learn to read and write letters, and begin catechism lessons (whatever that was!) and have to wear ties—the girls had to wear uniforms.