I’ve said this before, so forgive me if I’m repeating myself: I have a pretty good memory. My family and friends have been amazed over the years with what I remember. 

Sometimes I think they may think I fabricate things, but I can usually provide the facts. I don’t know where it comes from.  There are certain things I can remember from decades ago that seem just like yesterday.

My mom will tell you I started talking shortly after birth, and I’m thinking that memories start when you begin having conversations and understanding people.  

But I will tell you, there are things I’ve forgotten in the last few years. I’m a little amazed when something comes to mind that I had completely forgotten about.  Seems that our mind starts to kick things out when we reach a certain age, sort of like a weary, overloaded database that is saving room for what is absolutely essential.

And so, I am thankful to remember stuff, especially from way back.  

One of those memories is Kindergarten. I can remember it in detail. I don’t know why. I mean, everyone will agree it is a monumental occurrence.  

I believe my mom and brother, in the stroller with the shiny wheels, walked me over to Northside school and  escorted me into the building. Mrs. White and Mrs. Gruner were there, in this enormous room, where some kids were already busy drawing or playing or whatever. A few kids were sitting at a table looking shell-shocked.

I hadn’t been on my own much in my five short years, and I had in fact just turned five a few weeks ago.  Surely I was much too young to be turned loose, on my own, in this huge room full of strange kids.

I am not sure of the actual moment Mom left, but I was introduced to the art materials and the toys that were around the room.  Mrs. White suggested I draw. When I didn’t show much interest (and I loved to draw), she showed me the play area with all sorts of different things a 5-year-old might like.

I decided to sit at the table with the shell-shocked kids. I did not decide to cry, although I was on the verge.

It was around 8:30 in the morning. I was in for what I thought would be a painful day.

We practiced various things that morning: the pledge, how to excuse ourselves for the bathroom, and how to behave. We went outside to play for a bit, went around the room and shared our names, and went about doing your basic Kindergarten orientation stuff.

After what seemed like hours, we had some sort of snack. I don’t remember what we had that first day, but I do remember having some sort of puffy popcorn snack a few days later that I told my parents tasted like cotton but was delicious.

Snack must have been around 9:45. We had some rest time, and we played a few more games and did an art project.

Still on the verge of losing control of my emotions, I decided to go to the bathroom. I went in there and gave myself a minute to breathe deeply and maybe turn loose with a couple of quick, lung searing sobs.  Then got a drink of water from the fountain that we actually had in the classroom.

Can you believe that? A fountain in the classroom.  We were right uptown.

 I emerged from that bathroom/drinking fountain break a new man. I remember having a new lease on life.  

Maybe it was the deep breathing or the release of a few gulps and cries.

Kindergarten wasn’t too bad after all. I returned to my table of new friends and smiled a little. To my great surprise, Mrs. White announced it was almost time for us to go home.  I couldn’t believe it. A whole day of Kindergarten had started out feeling endless but was already over with.  

“I was sort of ready to cry for a while, but then I went to the bathroom and was OK after that,” I told my mom, standing just where I thought she’d be outside.

I’m sure my mom was amused by that, and I was a talkative child, so I probably chattered away as we walked the two or three blocks back home.

Now it’s funny to me as I read what I’ve written. I told you I remembered the day as if it were yesterday.  But I guess I really don’t. I remember coming and going, I remember how I felt, and I remember a few odds and ends.  

I remember my teacher’s faces, and I remember the layout of the room, although I can’t tell you as many specifics as I bragged about in the paragraphs above. I remember Galen, Brett, Brent, Curtis, Tina, Michelle and Joey. 

Joey’s mother had already taught him how to read, so he was an absolute rock star in our classroom.  Curtis was the tallest kid in the class and remained so the rest of my school career.  Galen, Brent and Brett were my three best friends. Tina was my first girlfriend.  

Michelle was a kooky, strange girl who remained so the rest of my school career. She made an impression.

Oh yeah, Roger hauled off and kicked me in the back as hard as he could a few weeks later, and I never knew why. So, Roger was in my class too.

But so many other things are rather fuzzy. I am as surprised at that as I was when Mrs. White said it was already 11:30.

That’s also something I remember. The school day, for Kindergartners in 1972, was only a few hours long.  Back then, kids only went for half the day to Kindergarten. I was in the a.m. class.  The p.m. kids would arrive after lunch.

Sure, there were other things about Kindergarten I remember. Mrs. Gruner taking us to a room across the hall to cut out a silhouette of Jack from the Jack-Be-Nimble nursery rhyme.  We glued jack onto the paper and then glued a little birthday candle underneath.  

Clever, eh?

We learned our letters and sounds from a program called “The Letter People” and listened to records, sung by those letter people, with catchy tunes about the sounds they made. The letter people themselves were blow-up characters that were as real as they could be to us.  

I mean, after all, Mr. “M” actually knocked on our door and then came in to serve us all a piece of macaroni.  Mrs. Gruner had to walk with him, but he was walking all the same.

Yes he did. He walked across the floor. He really knocked on the door.  Stop arguing with me.

I revisited that classroom several years ago, and just like everyone else says, it was much smaller than I remembered.  

So there you go. My intention to preserve a memory didn’t go as well as I thought it would. I thought I was going to supply you with this clever and entertaining anecdote, when all I managed was a fuzzy, kinda-sorta type of story that probably isn’t that entertaining and isn’t all that special.  

Sorry, thanks for reading anyway.

(the writer hangs his head in shame)