Kindergarten

Even though I was only four, I distinctly remember the anxiety I felt as my mother held my hand and lead me into my very first classroom. It was the mysterious "Kindergarten" at "School". What exactly these two things were elluded me for the most part, which was why I was so anxious.

I knew it was a place I would go every day with my twin brother, Jordan, to learn and that there were many different grades. Everything seemed dark and foreboding as we walked into the room. The sun had been bright and blinding outside and my little eyes took a moment to adjust to the indoor lighting. And then I beheld the most shocking thing.

Toys. I had absolutely no idea that I'd get to PLAY at Kindergarten! No one had said anything about a toy kitchen that was just my size, or a professional painting easel, again, just my size. There were buckets and buckets, all on shelves in a row, full of blocks and dolls and these weird Lego-type cubes that you could snap together and bend into all sorts of shapes. They even told us we'd get to have a nap at school. This was a little odd to me because I didn't have naps at home anymore. But I got to bring my big fluffy Beauty and the Beast blanket and kept it in my cubby outside the classroom.

It wasn't really my first day of school though. This was just an orientation, and I was heartbroken when I was told we were going home, all before I even got to lay a finger on those interesting cubes I'd walked passed only moments previous. The next day didn't come soon enough and every day after that was a perfect joy. I had fallen in love.

Soon enough, Fall crept up on us and my mother sent us to school in rain coats. They were made of shiny vinyl, which constantly stuck and caught on itself as our arms tried to swing gently as we walked. But they kept us dry and came down past our knees. Mine was pink and Jordan's was yellow. Unfortunately, the weather in Vancouver can be alarmingly unpredictable.

The first day our mother sent us to school in our rain coats, it was swelteringly hot out. Our class always went for a walk outside each day, but I don't remember why. We were either headed to another building of the school, all paired off and in a line, or we were just getting some exercise. In any case, we were told to put on our jackets and by the time we'd gotten outside, I felt like Jordan and I were the world's two biggest fools.

We were the only ones in the class wearing rain jackets. Everyone else was wearing a light jacket or a sweater. My bring pink vinyl raincoat on the other hand, didn't breathe and left me uncomfortable and sweaty. On top of that, our bright jackets made so much noise on our silent trek (no one said a word on these walks) that we became the centre of attention. Even our teacher's assistant said our jackets made it sound like it was raining and noted how ironic that was, rain jackets sounding like rain. I didn't think it was funny.

Halloween eventually rolled around and the school held a Haunted House in the same building as my Kindergarten room. The teacher's assistant said we could go and see it if we wanted and escorted those who said yes. There was absolutely no way I would step one foot out the door of my classroom. I was too scared to move even an inch closer to the Haunted House down the hall. Eerie music played from the room they'd set it up in, and spider webs and something green and black had been strung up around the door. I thought it indignant of them to put it in the same building as us Kindergartners. How dare they! Didn't they realize that we were just kids? We could get really scared and they didn't even care.

One of the boys in my class, a flippant uncaring boy, said he wanted to go. So our teacher took him. When he came back he said it wasn't scary and went back to playing with his toys as if he'd never left, completely unaffected. I tried to muscle up the courage to ask if I could go too, but eventually the day ended and I was left to wonder for the rest of my life what the Haunted House was like on the inside.

Winter eventually staked its claim on my little school. Instead of the incessant rain and the week of slushy snow that usually graced our city, we got dumped on. Snow was everywhere. My dad built an enormous sledding track. He banked it on each side and made it so long and winding and slick, I thought I'd never slow down and end up flying into traffic, which was where the track ended. Kids from all over the block came to play on it and I beamed when I got to tell them it was MY dad who built it.

Eventually the Winter break was upon me and I was loathe to leave school for an entire week. But my parents found ways to distract me. My dad called me in one day from playing in the snow, my mittens and snowsuit completely soaked, to write my numbers. He didn't make me spell them out, but he had me write 1 through 100 before I could go back out again. I was happy to do it and enjoyed the challenge. But when he told me later that I'd missed a few, I was annoyed with myself. It was repetition, how did I skip some of them?

Before I knew it I was back to school and the snow was still on the ground. We were allowed to throw snowballs at each other but only if we were in the pit, a play area with a cement wall around it that you could only access by descending a small set of stairs. We were also told that if you got hurt, it was your own fault because you were the one who'd chosen to enter the pit. So you weren't allowed to come and cry to one of the supervisors.

That didn't seem very reasonable to me. What if you were playing nicely and then someone attacked you and you never had the chance to defend yourself? What if they ganged up on you and you couldn't cry for help? What if they gave you a face wash and you suffocated to death?

I descended into the pit anyway, wary of any unseen attack that could come from either side. I saw kids all over the place, playing and laughing and throwing snowballs. I was excited and spotted an older boy not too far away. He was playing with a few other kids so I didn't think he would notice if I threw a snowball at him too. I scooped up the cold wet snow, formed a ball and chucked it at his back. It exploded on impact and I smiled from ear to ear. And then he turned around.

My smile vanished and he ran towards me, snow in hand, and put me in my place. I left the pit and went straight to one of the supervisors. She told me, in a kind but authoritative voice, that I'd been warned and that those were the consequences to the snowball fight. I didn't think it was fair. The boy's reaction had been more than a little excessive.

Eventually the snow melted and all that was left on the ground was pavement, asphalt and gravel. The pit was once again open to anyone who wanted to play there. One of my friends told a group of us excitedly that she'd planted one of the seeds we'd found and that it had started growing. We were all wide-eyed and astounded, clearly impressed and jealous, but ran following her into the pit to the spot the plant had burst up out of the gravel.

It was up against the concrete wall, about three inches tall, spiralling, green and beautiful. The jealousy I'd already felt exploded inside me. I didn't believe that she had actually planted it and figured it was a weed. We even asked one of the supervisors what the plant was and she confirmed my suspicions; it was a weed. The other girls tried to show the supervisor the kind of seed it had supposedly sprouted from, but she still said it was a weed, quickly moving on to avoid any other questions or confrontations we might present to her. I knew my friend had lied, but I wanted so desperately to plant one of those seeds myself and to see it grow, to have that kind of nurturing power.

But all I had was a penny. I'd found it somewhere and wanted to bury it and come back for it later. The idea that I could have a secret treasure, right under every one's noses, was intoxicating. So I planted it against the wall near one of the staircases when no one was looking. I giggled to myself, secretive, eyeing anyone who might look in my direction and discover what I'd done, and eventually went back to class when the buzzer rang.

The next day I went to unearth my penny but couldn't find it anywhere. I looked and looked and dug and dug, but it wasn't anywhere and I just knew that the girl who'd lied about the plant was the one who'd stolen it. I asked her for it back but she said she didn't take it. I knew she was lying, she was always so snotty and bossy. So I told one of the supervisors and she asked the girl if she'd stolen it. Again she said no, so the supervisor told me I'd probably just lost it. No one would believe me or take my side. So I ran away.

I went to another side of the school where no one liked to play and sat on the ground against a wall. I put my head on my knees and zipped my jacket up over my head so I could have a secret hiding place and cry. But eventually a group of older girls found me and the next thing I knew they were unzipping my jacket and asking me what was wrong and if I was okay. I had been rescued.

Every day that year, Jordan and I would sit together at home on the coffee table and watch Barney and Friends before we left for another adventure at Kindergarten. I pushed my twin away most of the time, desperate to break out on my own and do things by myself. But eventually, I started looking for him, enjoying his company and humour. As we grew older I spent more and more time with him and we had more adventures as we graduated from one grade to the next. But those stories are for another time and another blog...