Saturday, April 20, 2013


I was ... what?  Five years old?  My family's house was just three blocks down the road from the high school.  A massive structure in the eyes of one so young, it had a curved, ground-floor classroom on the northeast end which housed "the little kids".  It amazes me the hodge-podge of specific memories I have from my one year association with that place.

There I am, the blondie beside the teacher, in the upper right corner.
(This is actually nursery school, because I couldn't find one of Kindergarden.)

I can still picture the colourful, crib-size blankets spread out, side by side, on the floor and me trying to keep my eyes closed, lay still and not fidget.  Nap time came at some point in my day/half day in the tender clutches of ...

Miss Parslow, the teacher, 

(read:  "GOD").  My mother reports that during their first parent-teacher interview, my dear teacher said to her:  -I won't believe everything I hear about you if you don't believe everything you hear about me.

The triangle and striker was my favourite instrument during "band".  What delightful cacophony it produced!

On group excursions to the bathroom down the hall from our classroom, I was fascinated by the bay-style, pedal-operated sink that sent beautiful fountain-streams of water in a semi-circle.  How many times did Miss Parslow have to cajole me to -leave it now, let's go!

I remember my younger brother clutching my mother's leg and weeping silently on visitors' day, as they sat outside our circle of happy, shining faces singing lusty verses of The Farmer in the Dell.  It would be his turn soon to start attending, but he was less than impressed with the glories of education.

Was I the only one brave/stupid/loud enough to beg for the responsibility of the class mascot over the Easter vacation that year?  I will never forget the tickling sensation on my fingers and thumb as he scrabbled valiantly to escape my clutches while I held him upside-down under the running water at the kitchen faucet as Mum and I cleaned his bowl.

-I'm not touching that thing!  You pick him up, she instructed. When I dropped the wee beastie into the sink, surprised and somewhat shocked at his antics, we all screamed--not that we could actually hear the turtle screaming over Mum's loud protestations -This is the VERY LAST TIME I EVER....!!!!!!!

There are a few, very few, memories from when I was three and four, which explain my abhorrence of bananas and a delicious delight in cutting hair, but that's about it on Kindergarden for me.  I am sure some very happy living came between then and Grade Three, but I seem to draw a blank on the next two years of my life.  

How about you?  What memories, happy or sad, can you recall from your early childhood?  

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