Today is my 42nd wedding anniversary. I’m 63 years old. LeapFrog has asked for a short memoir about transitioning to kindergarten.
I remember the moment I entered the kindergarten doorway and saw a big yellow circle on the floor. I knew I wanted one. Soon I’d learn that we were to sit on this circle-of-all-circles when we entered the room and stay there until attendance was taken. We also headed there whenever the class needed “to talk,” had a visitor, or when we played Duck-Duck-Goose. On that line we had to learn to cross our legs just so (I can see my cotton dress make a little bowl as I write this) and put our hands on our knees. Then we were to sit still and follow directions.
No one at my house said much about going to kindergarten, but there was a nice fuss over shortening my sister’s dresses to fit me and getting a new pair of saddle shoes. This was essentially my “transition.” Getting new shoes was always a big deal because my sisters and I got to put our feet on a machine that made our bones look bright blue. (I believe these x-ray machines were outlawed in the fifties.) The shoe salesman (always a man) would measure our feet with a heavy metal platform that had funny lines and a moving part that would go up and down until it hit the bone sticking out of the inside of each foot, right below our big toe. Then he’d push on all our toes to see how long each foot was. Soon he’d disappear into a back room (always mysterious) and come out balancing tens of boxes and—oh my gosh—what fun that was trying on all those shoes!
Just before school started we all got our hair cut, too. I got bangs for the first time before entering kindergarten, and I loved them! Every hair lay flat and together each one managed to fall such that together they’d make a fine, straight line right over my eyebrows. We were all to look neat and clean, and I surely did. Each sister also got a new lunchbox.
I suppose there was one more thing that helped my transition into school, but I’m not sure it was meant for that purpose. In the basement of our home, our Dad had a little office where he’d do his engineering work in the evening and on weekends. I loved watching him draw lines and make plans for dams, or buildings, or truck parts before my very eyes. And he always had to write reports. Because I liked hanging out with him, he’d give me paper and pencil and encourage me to draw and write little notes (probably to stay out of his hair!). I remember feeling big and grown-up and happy to a part of the writing “club.” So, new cloths, an expectation to be neat and clean, and an introduction to writing and drawing through playing office was what I got. And, boy, that first day of kindergarten was amazing. Yellow circles still have a fascination.
