Kindergarten is where I learned my left from my right, and a few other important lessons.
I clearly remember my 1st day of school – a half day of kindergarten at Thaddeus Stevens Elementary School in the Elliott neighborhood on the West End of Pittsburgh, PA. I remember the excitement of the weeks leading up to that first day – sitting at my mother’s elbow, watching raptly as she pinned patterns and cut out pieces from lovely calico print and glen plaid fabrics which we’d gone downtown to Murphy’s five and ten cent store to pick out together. While Mom skillfully stitched those pieces together on her Singer sewing machine into the most beautiful, grown-up, lace-and-ribbon trimmed dresses that any 5-year old girl could ever have wished for, I chattered on incessantly about what Real School was going to be like, so much more sophisticated and important than mere Sunday School, and how grown-up and worldly I was becoming, going to Real School and all. It was going to be so good to finally be part of the group of neighborhood kids that walked to school together everyday, with their sharp-looking clothes and important looking bookbags.
I remember that long-awaited day, when I was finally able to slip my feet into my new patent leather Mary Janes, don one of the crisply starched and ironed new dresses, clip a couple of matching barrettes onto my freshly pressed and braided hair, and -- holding tightly to Mom’s protective hand – sashay my little self all the way up Chartiers Avenue to the HUGE stone school building with it’s rows upon rows of sparkling multi-paned windows winking in the sunshine.
I remember the big brass doors and the smell of the wide, locker-lined hallways, and the room full of strange kids none of whom were the faces I’d expected to see from my little neck of the neighborhood. The room rang loudly with the shouts and chatter of the bunch. It was way more noise and confusion than I’d ever experienced. NOTHING like Sunday School. In fact, Real School was turning out to be Real Scary.
The new teacher ordered all the children to make a circle. “Everyday when the bell rings,” she announced, “all of you will take your place on this circle.” She proceeded to call us each by name, take us by the hand and place us one by one with our toes touching a big black circular line painted on the floor, while the parents stood back along the walls and watched. Many of the fidgety bunch, myself included, had trouble staying in our place on the circle, but the teacher firmly took us each by the shoulders and marched us back to the line. “Toes on the line,” she ordered. “Alright, children, we’re going to learn the Hokey Pokey!” So we all obediently tried to put our left foot in and our left foot out, etc, etc. It was just starting to be a little fun when I noticed some of the children seemed to be waving goodbye to someone. I turned to look, just in time to see my own Mom slipping from the room with a little wave in my direction.….
And then I remember pitching a sure ‘nuff, hissy-FIT when she turned to leave me there!! Whoa! Wait a minute now! Naw uh-uh-uh!! Surely she didn’t intend to leave me here with all of these ….STRANGERS!
Needless to say, I broke the line. When Mom refused to pick me up and take me with her, I literally tried to crawl up my mother’s legs. Demon children laughed and shouted behind me. Under threat of a good switching, she was eventually able to pry herself out of my clutches, and run (well… fast, fast walk) down the hall and out the door.
Abandoned, hiccupping heartbroken sobs, snot flying everywhere, I allowed my new teacher to coax me into the room with the demon children. Firmly she stood me in my place, with my toes on the black, circular line. “All right, everyone, let’s do the Hokey Pokey again. You put your left foot in, you put your left foot out , you put your left foot in and you shake it all about... Your left foot, Ronnie, your LEFT foot…”
As my teary vision cleared and I began to really look at individuals around me, I was shocked to recognize the same despair, fear, and trepidation on many of the other little faces in the room. Even a shy or embarrassed smile here and there. So, I took a big breath and put my left foot in. 
Eventually, of course, it all worked out. Everyone calmed down, I made a few friends, relaxed into this new “school” groove, and by the time my mom arrived to pick me up at the end of the day, I didn’t want to leave. But all the kids were leaving with their parents or older siblings, and everyone assured me I’d get to come back the next day, and the next. And that school would get better and better. And they were right.
The rest of kindergarten is one big happy memory-collage: dancing all around the classroom in my full twirly skirts, learning to make designs with geometric puzzle blocks, learning to cut and paste with brightly colored construction paper, creating fabulous fashion statements with wooden beads strung on thick cords, writing my NAME, group sing, etc., etc. It was a wonderful year. By the end of it I was a full-fledged school-girl. I’d even graduated into black and white oxford shoes kept bright with white shoe polish – so cool, so big-girl.
So what was my big kindergarten take-away? That I could manage –and even flourish -- in the world without my mom nearby (at least for half-a-day at a time). Yes, kindergarten is not only where I learned my left from my right. It's also where I found the strength of my OWN two feet, and the value of knowing when and how to toe the line.
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