My Childhood: My First Day Of School

(September 13, 1965 from 8:40 to 11:10 A.M.)

Mom had stressed education for as far back as I can remember. She was always getting books for us, from fun books like Doctor Seuss to more serious books about science and history. Thus, from an early age I learned to enjoy reading and learning.

By the time I started school, I was an avid reader. I read everything I could get my hands on. As I progressed from Kindergarten to grade school, I never lost my love of the written word.

Up until the first day of school, however, most of my education had come from my parents. I had played with other kids, of course, but I had never been with a group of kids in a structured learning environment before.

Thus I found my first day of school extremely intimidating, to say the least. I decided that I didn’t want to go to school. I’d heard about it, and what I heard didn’t make me happy at all.

As the fateful day approached, I got more and more nervous. My stomach began to hurt, my head throbbed, and my chest felt tight. I was worried, what if the other kids didn’t like me? What if the teacher was an ogre? Well, actually, what was a teacher, anyway?

When the first day of school finally arrived, I was a wreck. My mother had to drag me out of bed, and force breakfast down my throat. The last few minutes of freedom seemed to go so incredibly quickly!

Before I knew it, it was time to go. We went out the door - I was trying to be brave, really I was. But all the pent up emotions for the past few days finally took their toll. I began crying. Before you knew it, I was kicking and screaming. I tried to run back home, but my mother caught me. Eventually, she just picked me up and dragged me to the school.

We must have been quite a sight - a mother carrying a wildly thrashing kid screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. I guess the principle of the school heard me, because he was waiting. He took in the situation in a glance, and took action!

The school principle, a kindly looking old man, threw me over his knee, brought out a paddle, and proceeded to warm my backside. He told me if I was gonna cry, at least I’d have something to cry about.

Afterwards, he sat me down in the classroom with the other kids and the teacher. I sniffled, but didn’t dare cry. The principle might hear, and I knew what he’d do about it!

After a few minutes I looked around, and started talking and playing with the other kids. The teacher was a very nice middle-aged woman, and she was very good at her job. She made us kids feel right at home.

I pity my poor mother for that day. She went home, having left me to the tender mercies of the principle, filled with guilt and trepidation. She must have felt terrible! When the time finally came to pick me up, she must have been a nervous wreck.

Imagine her surprise to see me playing gleefully with the other children, the center of attention. The teacher had introduced us to finger painting, and I was making the most of it. I was in heaven; I could make a mess and not even be scolded for it.

My mother recorded my thoughts about Kindergarten in my baby book:

"I had a lot of fun. We didn’t do anything. She read us a story, we played outdoors. We laid on the floor and rested. I was real brave and didn’t cry."

Now my mother had a different problem - I didn’t want to go home. I was having too much fun. However, I went home without a fight, because I knew the principle wouldn’t put up with any nonsense.