When I met my kindergarten teacher,
Mrs. Figatner, for the first time I am certain I was traumatized. I had
terrible separation anxiety for most of my childhood (birthday parties and
sleep overs)- and probably most of my adolescence. I probably still suffer from
it now but it has taken on other behavioral symptoms than the customary, "I’ll cry if I don’t see my mommy!” pattern of response.
Oh kindergarten! The tiny
toilets and the large, large room. Everything was a perfect fit for dolly-sized
hands and bodies. The small tables and chairs, the brightly colored
toys, circle time for reading, show-n- tell, mats for napping. How could anything
go wrong? Mrs. Figatner, who when I try to recall her face I only conjure the
class photo of my second grade teacher, Mrs. Treventi (Dark eyes, short curly dark
hair and a friendly smile). Mrs. Figatner-I forgot (I think she wore glasses) which
is probably okay because that means she did not lean more toward evil than
good, but someplace in the center.
One day a kid puked in the tiny toilet and I got upset. It was red and horrified me. The toilets were adjacent to the common classroom space so it was hard to avoid the incident.
I
know that any mom would not like a sick child out of compassion for the
discomfort their child might suffer, but my mommy was sort of put out by
illness. She wasn’t mean or punishing however, I knew
to back off and get better because it mildly annoyed her enough that I had to
fix myself up. Writing that down feels awful, because I want to protect my mom,
who I think was a good mom overall-just not too good with the sick kid thing.
What had to be done, she managed to do. My dad was just ill-equip to handle those tasks. It took him a few decades to get with
it- especially when my mom went to grad school when I was 7.
When sick, the purple smelly cough syrup was
poured into a spoon and delivered into my mouth without spilling onto my
clothes. It looked so pretty, like Pepto
Bismol, but tasted terrible. The temptation of the attractive color, and the
deception that children everywhere must endure. So pretty! It looks like candy!
You don’t feel well? Your throat hurts? Here, have a
spoonful of this. A teaspoon. It always felt so much larger sliding into my
mouth. I think you made a mistake and used a tablespoon.
The use of spoons for
dispensing medicine into kid’s mouths is wrong. Now we have those tidy plastic
cup-caps which have measurements printed on them and kids can feel some control
and dignity as they sip meds on their own. I am sure today’s medicine tastes
better than it did in the 1960’s. Do they add corn syrup? What is in it?
They’ve stopped adding artificial colors, too. Tylenol is now a milky white and
smells fragrant, and my kid doesn’t gag (or say, “please pour me another”)
after she drinks it down. The pharmaceutical companies have finally found
something that works.
So, my mom went to Columbia
University for a master’s degree and there is a lot of busy, busy clicking on her beige typewriter.
That machine pushed back on her fingers and the resistance must have given her
hands quite a work out.
She was quick, too.
I tried to hunt and peck and found
the tips of my fingers got sore and tired rather quickly. I liked to look at
the metal keys inside the body of the typewriter and run my fingers across the
letters and get them stained with ink. The ribbon added more of a mysterious
quality to the mechanics of the machine. When she finished the ribbon I watched
as she thread a new one in- reminding me of the skill it took for her to thread
her sewing machine and especially insert the bobbin. Click click click!!
When I ran away for the first time,
it was in kindergarten. I am really embarrassed to reveal the reason, but I
will say that I felt creative as I made my way home from school and nobody
noticed that I left. My class was boarding a bus heading for New York City.
They were planning on visiting the Empire State Building. As they boarded the
bus I realized that I didn’t want to go, so I left. There was a lot of snow on
the ground and I kicked a snowball the entire way home. I named it and became
attached to it. When my mother saw me she was kind and responsive when I asked
her to put the snow into the freezer so I could save it.
I never knew what happened with the
school and the trip.
I have no regrets about missing the
trip and I was very glad that I found my way home that snowy day.
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