Standing up for My Rights

KINDERGARTEN
I remember early back in my life. I don’t know why. But I don’t question it. It is funny for me to recall what I was like as a kid. When I do look back I usually have a good laugh because of how awkward I was. The things I did. The things I thought but didn’t say and what I really panicked about- all the things that make me who I am today. It all adds up. I am the way I am supposed to be, judging by my past.
I began my first year of kindergarten like any other kid. My cubby was full of crayons, my scissors were sharp, and I was in line to turn in my box of Kleenex. I was a bit scared of Ms. Statem. Maybe it was her curly hair that formed that sort of 90’s fro- A phase that all women seemed to go through. I was nervous around her. And as much as I wanted to be comfortable in her presents, I never was. I don’t know why. And Things just didn’t go right, right from the start it seemed like. I wasn’t happy. Who would think that a 5 year old could be so unhappy in kindergarten? But now when I look back I figure it wasn’t the big things. It was just the little things that added up. Ms. Statem had the biggest puzzle any kid could imagine in a classroom, with pieces the size of party pizzas. And the best part about this puzzle was not putting it together, but the reward you receive when you finished. Statem had a gold colored tin box on her desk chalked-full of random assortments of candy. That was all the motivation one needed. When a kid completes “the big floor puzzle” he or she earns one piece of candy. Unfortunately it wouldn’t be until 40 or so years later that these kids would realize that the real reward was not the sweet treat, but really the fond memory of the journey it is to put it together. At this point in life if there wasn’t a reward of candy, what motivation was there? The only real reason they did it was for the candy. It was always about the candy. That’s the way it is with kids. If there’s candy involved, there’s no question. Later in my life, when Halloween rolls around, my friend Paul and I prepare our plan of attack so we can get as much candy as our pillow cases could hold. We always grabbed the biggest one we could each find. Even though when we got out to collect, our sacs rarely filled much passed half way. But this only encouraged us to work harder. By the end of the night I was never disappointed and I treated my candy like gold. I had to save it. Only eat it a few pieces at a time. I don’t know if this was the greatest idea as I had candy for months after Halloween. Most years I was left with just the “Almond Joy,” “Mounds,” and then all the international treats I was not accustomed to.
I finish that big puzzle and I was ready for my prize, so I went to tell Statem that I had done it. And after she saw the proof, I had permission to partake from the tin. When I opened it, only to find it was barren, I looked around to see who playing this sick, sick joke on me. But no one noticed. I felt sick to my stomach as I told Statem the bad news and she said that she would get some for me later. Some how I decided that that was ok, which was wrong, because that’s all I got from her- a rein check. I was betrayed. And this was not the end. Not even close. That same year on Halloween I was superman- a classic move. But some how I thought that the superman outfit I had- pajamas, would work famously. How wrong I was. I think it may have only been a superman top at most and being short the bottoms I improvised a bit and used red sweatpants. Superman has blue tights, by the way. And since I was using the opposite of what the pants should be, I had to substitute the outer red underwear for my actual blue underwear complimented with yellow trim. The cape looked nothing more than a red dishrag with two squares of Velcro on the corners and on the shoulders of my shirt. I don’t know why it didn’t bother me then, but later I realized that a cape that only goes to the top of you ass is a sin. This was probably the biggest mistake that I let my older brother and my mother talk me into. I bet he doesn’t even remember it now, but I’m sure he had a good, cheap laugh at the cost of a child’s self confidence that will have stunted him for the rest of his life. I don’t know why I agreed to this but I did, actually, wear this to Statem’s class and Halloween party. It was too late to turn back for me when a neighboring classroom came through ours to show their costumes and one boy had a spandex-like superman outfit with a cape that went all the way to his ankles. My jealousy for this boy, who I didn’t even know, was deep. And it didn’t end. One of my own classmates, Dustin, who lived in my own neighborhood, and rode my bus, and was a cowboy that day, made sure the whole class knew that I had it all wrong. Dancing around, pretending to shoot his toy gun, he was out of control. The whole class laughed so hard because of him. I felt like a fool and I was not laughing. They believed him. They followed him. He was crazy and I was the only one who knew it. Ridding home on the bus, I looked back on the day and felt I had been emotionally crucified by my whole class. I recall no support from Statem, who should have been at my side telling me that the workmanship and creativity that went into my outfit was superior to those of my classmates. But, I suppose she may have felt a little awkward around me that day. She was outnumbered. I mean, if a kid is being harassed to the point of tears by everyone, you may want to help them, but the chances of making a difference are pretty slim. And if you can’t beat a gang of angry kindergarteners, join them.
My mother pulled me out of school around December, setting me back a year. But this was the right thing to do because of the way I was treated. The way Statem treated me. The injustice. So I turned in my cubby and sold all my crayons. I took back my Kleenex and booked it out of there. Boy, this was a great day. I didn’t have to go to school and everything just seemed too good to be true. In the following years growing up, I told all my friends that I was removed because Statem was a bad teacher. It wasn’t until I was in my 20’s that my mother told me that the real reason I was pulled out was because of my underdeveloped motor skills. It was quite a surprise to find out that I was a bit slow. But that’s the way it is with me. It’s always been a challenge to keep up with the other students my age. I started my second year of kindergarten pretty confidently. I watched the new kids come in. Scared. Knowing nothing. Not knowing where the closest bathroom was if there was an emergency. Or confused about what hall it is to the drinking fountain. But I knew. If a kid didn’t know- Bam! There I was. I had Mrs. Morris that year. She was wonderful. I felt as if I could have been her very child. As if she could be my very own mother. The second round of kindergarten for me seemed to just be more packed with fun. They must have made many additions to the class rooms to make them more kid-friendly. Like a welcome mat. We went to the library to read books, but never, never to check them out. When winter came Mrs. Morris and a few volunteer parents took us outside to make home-made ice cream. We all couldn’t help at the same time so we did it in shifts. And in between these shifts we were allowed to just play in the snow. I remember the taste of the ice cream when we got back to the class. Vanilla. So smooth and creamy. Delicate, yet more complex than a five year old could ever imagine. How does ice cream come from a little wooden bucket full of snow? But it did. When spring rolled around we had a “choir concert” to match the delight in our hearts of the coming season. This was held in the small gymnasium of our school. Looking out and seeing my mom and Mrs. Morris, and a packed gym, I became pretty uneasy. I knew my mother was looking at me because she is my mom, and now that I think about it, I think Mrs. Morris was looking at me too. Not just because I think she liked me best, but because I was yawning the entire time. All those hours of practicing back in the classroom and it all came down to this. Since I hadn’t figured out how to suppress me edgy nerves, a nice display of yawns contributed more or less to our ensemble. Maybe she was laughing at me because I was trying so hard to stay with it. Even though I was older and much more mature, I still lacked quite a bit in this performance: Singing technique, Posture and definitely composure. I don’t remember singing one word at our little concert. Having all these new situational experiences, I had more confidence this year for sure. I didn’t show off a lot. I was never that type. But I spoke up more. I saw kids fight all the time, like kids do. It was usually something small, like a toy, or paints, or who gets to be the person on register in our little “play store.” Everyone wanted to be that person. Especially me. But back then I rarely had it my way due to shyness-something that always lingered with me. At this age, if your arguing with anyone, all you need to do, is drop the “I-am-older-than-you,” bomb, and there is nothing they could do to win. So I always had that in my back pocket, ready to go. And I did use it a lot because I was older. When a birthday comes to pass, so do the rights to this phrase. Those once-a-year days come along, and it is so vital to be invited to the parties. You have got to be someone. If you are not invited to Brian’s 5th birthday party kiss your kindergarten social life goodbye. Sarah was a girl who lived in my neighborhood. Her birthday was coming up and I was getting keyed up for it. My mother helped me wrap a Barbie doll for her. Now all I needed was to wait for that invitation in the mail or our front door. But it didn’t come. It was the day of the party and she never invited me. I could hear the fun they were having at her house across the street. I was so hurt. So angry. I screamed that I hated them and I didn’t want to go to their stupid party. My mother didn’t realized how much this meant to me, of course, and it hurt her to see me so distressed. So she proceeded to make a call, pulled a few strings and before I new it, the gift was under my arm, she was walking me over and I was wiping my tears away. All of a sudden this party was important again. It was not stupid anymore because I was invited. It all felt good until I walked in the door and it hit me. That feeling where you want something so badly, but when you finally have it, your not so sure this was the best option for you. I felt like “that guy” at the party. Everyone knows him. The one that is never invited but shows up anyway. No one really talked to me at Sarah’s party anyway. She probably told everyone about me. So I dropped off my present for her and grabbed some cake for the trek home. Some party.
One day, while I was playing in the sandbox that was in our classroom, I went into a little daydream and began to unconsciously write with purple marker on the Air Conditioner that happen to be directly behind the sandbox. I don’t recall what I was writing. That didn’t matter. What did matter was that there were rules in these places and I was breaking them. These rules were made for us to follow and keep us safe. This is what must have gone through Jeff’s mind when he saw me treat them like un-played-with garbage. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. I look at him then back at what I’ve done. Then back at him again. My heart began to race as hundreds of excuses fly in and out my mind. “Oh, please don’t tell Mrs. Morris,” I beg. “I’m going to tell Mrs. Morris,” he tosses back at me. I think of the disappointment in her eyes if she were to ever find out what I’ve done. I couldn’t bear to experience it. “Please don’t!” I plead. “Your going to be in so much trouble.” “Pa-leaze!” I begged. “NO!” He snapped back. We must have gone back and forth like that for about five minutes before I came to my last option. “I’ll invite you to my birthday party if you promise you wont tell on me…because I know how important these things are.” He thinks for a moment…and then I saw some acceptance in his eyes. I saw a peace agreement. “Ok, fine,” he replays, after what seems like a thousand kid years. When In reality, it just took all of free-time. I’d like to think the mark I made would still be there if I went back today, but probably not. I don’t think I told anyone. Not even my girlfriend at the time, Alison. At least that’s what I thought. I’m sure she was just a playmate. Maybe I wanted more in the relationship. I liked her a lot. In elementary school I’m pretty sure its unwritten code that the birthday kid brings treats for the whole class. Its not something you learn but something you just know. Of course I did this because I go with the crowd. It wouldn’t before I was 15 years before I would take a step “into my own”. I brought fun-size ‘3 musketeers’ for my class. They sat in a circle and I walked around in the middle dropping a candy bar into each and everyone of their little hands. I could see Alison was coming up, and coming fast. What should I do? She is my girlfriend, I thought. Then I thought I would maybe, accidentally drop two candy bars in her hand. When she came around I was too nervous the class would be angrily confused with me as to why I gave her two and not anyone else. This wasn’t a risk I couldn’t afford to take. I had also just gotten off the hook with Jeff and didn’t want to fall deeper into debt. I only had one birthday this year and I’m sure she would have felt a bit awkward too, being treated like a high-class kindergarten girl. Alison had been in a more of my classes growing up all the way to high school. She was in my 3rd grade class with Mr. Williams. Even at this point, when I gathered up the courage to ask her if she remembered me, the response was always a disappointing, flat “No.” I wanted her to remember and couldn’t understand why she didn’t. One day, while she was with her best-friend-for-the–year, Daira, I told her that I had a question for her. I was then, as I am now, an eternally curious boy. She was still nice to me… She allowed me. I was grateful for that. But I think she was turned off a bit more to our friendship when I asked her if she had hairy armpits. The first thing she did was look me in my eyes and burn them with disgust for my curious question. And that followed with running to her best-friend-for-the-year, Daira. As soon as she turned to leave me, I was, once again left alone, very aware that I was alone, and that I definitely didn’t know how to impress a girl. I try to imagine the response I would get had I told her of our true relationship all those years back in kindergarten. Probably perfect denial, coupled with laughter. Our friendship was on the skids so I layed low for the next ten years. I felt relieved when in 11th grade she didn’t remember me, once again. Maybe this was an act on her part. Maybe she knew it all. But I went along with it. Every time I saw her in later years, all I really thought about our first time together. How I thought that this was the beginning foundation to a really great relationship. But that was just kindergarten.