I remember my first day of kindergarten like it was just yesterday, rather than nearly 72 years ago.
In Pennsylvania in 1954, you could attend kindergarten when you reached 5 years of age, and my mother was certain I was ready for school, so off I went. Our next-door neighbor, Judy Player, who was about four years older than me, was drafted to walk me to school. Or maybe my mother paid her a nickel for the chore, or maybe Judy just did it because that’s what neighbors did for neighbors in those days.
In any case, Judy dutifully deposited me at the cloak room of the kindergarten area and went on to her classroom, leaving me to walk right in and set right down (see The Rooftop Singers). Except I had other plans. The way I figured it, I already had a graduate degree from Ding Dong School and Romper Room, so how much more could I possibly squeeze into this brain without it exploding, right? And I certainly wasn’t going to take any chances of that happening, no siree.
So I did what any reasonable 5-year-old would have been expected to do: I walked the half-mile back home, crossing three major streets and arriving back at my abode to what I thought would surely be the open arms of my mother.
Not! See, mothers in those days kind of had hangups about 5-year-olds and education, and despite my meager protestations, Mom was soon hustling me back the half-mile to face my fate — for 13 long years — which I was certain was overkill, but Mom won.
So here I was in the kindergarten room, seated at a round table with five other gawking 5-year-olds, wondering how I might break out of this prison. Of course kindergarten in those days was only for a half-day, so by the time we took our naps on our rugs, ran around the room a few times, and went to the bathrooms, it was time to go home. After which I’m certain the teacher rearmed herself with intestinal fortitude and maybe a few slugs of cough medicine (lots of colds in those days). I guess Mom met me at school for a few days, but I soon became a world traveler and made the half-mile trek back home by myself. Every day.
Now, thinking back to those days, I must have either lived a charmed life or the streets of our town were super safe for kids, but would you trust your kid to do that today? I didn’t think so. Different times, to be sure.
As it turned out, kindergarten wasn’t actually half bad once I got used to it. We had a big playhouse in the middle of the room where we could pretend almost anything. I recall having a lot of books read to us, which was pretty cool, and I also recall playing with large, oversized blocks.
We always had nap times, but I have to confess to rarely ever actually going to sleep during those periods. Of course, as I mentioned, we laid on rugs, the efficacy of which I never fully grasped, except to say health codes probably forbade 5-year-olds from sleeping on bare floors. Who knows what was appropriate in 1954?
I actually still have my report card from that pre-school experience, and I would like to point out that I received an “Excellent” rating for Relaxes During Rest Period. I guess I was an overachiever.
I do recall with considerable clarity that we had a play at the end of the school year, in which I had a major role. In recognition of my future acting abilities, I was chosen, from among numerous other thespians, to play the role of the Hunter in “Little Red Riding Hood.”
Needless to say I think the teacher recognized my fearless nature, my propensity for heroic deeds and perhaps even my lionly courage. No wait, that was the “Wizard of Oz.” Whatever. In any case I got to wear a cool costume and carry a pretend gun, which made me the envy of every other guy in the class.
On one of my trips to visit my hometown a couple of years ago, I decided to check out the old school. To my surprise there was no school on the site, but rather a very attractive one-story rancher. I guess you really can’t go home.