Kindergarten

Although I can't remember what I had for lunch Monday, or what year it was when I was 16, I can remember very vividly my first day of Kindergarten. I don't know if the ability to remember that day is anything special, but I know a lot of people that can't remember their elementary schoolteacher's names, let alone certain days or events.

I've heard that stressful days are more easily remembered (I was driving to an x-ray class the morning the Twin Towers fell), and maybe that's why I remember that first day of school so well.

I'm sure the Asperger's played a part in the stress of that day, and virtually every single school day after that.

I went to Tropical Elementary School in Merritt Island, Florida. Merritt Island is a quiet town next to Cocoa Beach (I Dream of Jeannie).

When online today, I discovered that Tropical Elementary is no longer home of the Trojans as it was when I was a kid, but is now home to the Trailblazers. I wonder why they changed the mascot?

Before that first fateful day, I was told my teacher was named Mrs. Bearning. My mom made the dire mistake of saying "like a bear" when pronouncing it, and my little Asperger's mind went wild imagining a bear-teacher ripping her students to shreds.

So, that first day, I think the other moms must have laughed at my Zombie mom, dragging her left leg as I clung to it like a tick. She finally peeled me off, and I dared a peek at Mrs. Bearning.

Attempting to fake being normal. 

She smiled at me. I remember that smile, full of warmth and grace and unicorns. I relaxed, but the moment of peace was shattered when she pointed to my desk, which was grouped with three other desks in the center of the front row of the classroom.

Everyone would be able to see me there.

A precocious little girl with two dirty blonde braids and a freckled nose grabbed my hand and started to pull me around the classroom. In her incessant chatter, I learned her name was Janet. She and I would be best friends on and off throughout elementary school.

I remember her pointing out the coolest things in the classroom--wooden toys. There were blocks, and a kitchen made from this polished tan wood. Nothing was bright and gaudy like the plastic toys in JC Penney's Christmas aisle. Each item, from the wooden cars to the wooden oven, looked like it had been carefully and wonderfully made. I can even remember loving the smooth grain of the wood, and how parts of the polish felt like wax.

There was a wooden balance beam, and Janet led me over it as I stared in awe at something marvelous in the back of the room. A wooden puppet theater with a bright red, velvet curtain. Beside it were my favorite things in the world--a whole bunch of puppets. Some were obviously expensive and elaborate--like the Velveteen Rabbit with it's realistic coat of fur, and the prince and princess with braided yarn hair and satin and velvet capes and knickers. Others seemed to be simple socks with button eyes and red felt tongues. It didn't matter--I loved them all.

I was suddenly in love with Kindergarten.

But I was still encased solidly in my shell. I remember not saying my name when the teacher went around the room. She asked me again to tell the class my first and last name, and I balked, staring at the ground like a mute idiot. She smiled, and told the class my name. I loved her for that.

I remember our first task was to write our name at the top of a blank white piece of construction paper. I hated that my name was so long, "Mindy Montgomery," but as I finished the task, I glanced around the room and saw that nearly all the other kids were still struggling. Mrs. Bearning calmly walked around, helping each one. I wanted to tell her I could help them, too, because I knew all my letters, and I knew how to spell. But I didn't. I was trapped inside my head, and would remain that way for years. But at least I could write, and that became an instant outlet for me.

After everyone finally had their names down, Mrs. Bearning asked us to draw and color a picture of something we did over the summer.

I knew exactly what to draw, but I only needed two crayon colors, black and white. I drew a picture of Shamu, because my mom and dad had taken my two brothers and me to Sea World. I remember finishing the picture and not liking it very much because I didn't think I had made Shamu's back arched enough. But there were no erasers, so I had to let it go.

In the 1970's, Asperger's wasn't a thing, so no one knew I was different but me. The teachers treated us all the same, but most were pretty perceptive and accommodating when they realized one kid wasn't exactly like the others.

At lunchtime, I was the only one to bring a bag lunch. My mom knew there was no way I would eat anything from the cafeteria, so she had packed a plain bologna sandwich on white bread cut into two triangles like I liked it, and a bag of Cheetos. Mrs. Bearning took extra care to prevent me from feeling weird by saying how she wished she had remembered to bring her brown bag lunch, too.

After a while, Mrs. Bearning taught us how to "line up." Once in a line, she waited patiently for the chatter to stop, then said we must walk on "mice feet" to the playground. She demonstrated by walking on her tiptoes, and I remember smiling as the other kids cackled. Being Miss Literal, I actually did walk on tip toes past the other classrooms as we made our way single file to the playground. I don't remember if anyone else did, though.

I was a lanky, tall, scrawny kid who my mom always said "barely ate enough to keep a bird alive." And being of Scottish and Scandinavian ancestry, I had inherited enough of those genes to make me heat-intolerant. And Florida in August isn't the best place to be if you're a heat-intolerant kid. I remember Mrs. Bearning pulling me aside after Janet and I had been sliding down the metal slide that was so shiny it appeared to have been polished. She said something like, "Mindy, your face is beet red. Are you okay, dear?"

I did better in the cooler weather...

I remember whispering, "My face always does this when I play outside."

She wasn't convinced. She led me to the shade of an oak, and made me sit down. She instructed Janet to ask one of the other teachers to get me a cup of water.

I was miserable. It felt like I wasn't hidden in the shade, but under a giant spotlight with every single kid staring at me and wondering what awful thing I had done to be punished. I wanted to bury my head in the dirt and disappear and never come back to Kindergarten again, despite it's moments of sheer wonderfulness.

After a few minutes, my face was still flushed, and Mrs. Bearning was now worried enough to take me to the clinic. The nurse took my temperature and it was 101.5, so she called my mom. My first day of school ended about an hour early.

And that's all I remember about that first day, but apparently I summoned the courage to go to school the next day, and for 12 more years after that. And after those twelve years, several more of college.

I guess I'm proof that an incredibly shy, dress-hating, tomboy misfit can make it in this world...