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I remember the way the finger paint smelled as it sat on clean, brand new, easels. How all of the colors were set out on the ledge in their plastic cups. In the center of the group of easels was a table with extra paint and a stack of plastic gloves that were specially made for people with small hands. How each little person after another would come in with their smiling parents. How some of the kids would cry until their mom or dad left. Then as soon as the parent was out of sight they would stop crying. We all hang our coats up on a rack that was much lower than the big kids? coat racks that were down the hall. I remember my beaming kindergarten teacher help us put our metal cartoon lunch boxes into a line under the coats and book bags. I remember my first book bag, black, with purple lettering. It had a picture of a robot, all out-lined with a neon green that would glow in the dark. I loved my book bag. My parents gave me my first box of crayons, all of the colors shining outward to my proud face. My teacher helped me sit down at my seat. Looking back at me from the desk was a nametag with each letter perfectly formed just like my mother had shown me. I was proud that I knew how to spell my name. I even knew my alphabet from the beginning to the ending song. My parents and grand parents had taught me well when it came to being educated. I still sing the song every time I say the alphabet. Which letters are said louder than the others, and which letters are said longer. |
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I can remember my first friend that I made on my own. He wasn't like any of the other friends I had ever known. He was a normal kid, just like me. He didn�t even live that far away, which I later found out.
I was happy that I had my very own friend to play with. He was my own friend in which we could pretend that we were super heroes, we could be anything we wanted. Together we would swing higher than any of the other kids on the playground. We ran the fastest to the fence where we would sit in the shade until recess was over. We laughed and joked and had a good time. In class we were always the ones to showoff our ability to write our alphabet and count as high as the teacher would let us. Those were happy times when we didn't have any cares. |
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As in most cases, all good things must come to an end. I just didn�t think that his dad would be transferred and that we would never see each other again. It makes you think about how ironic life can be. One day you are out on the playground having fun thinking that you would do the same thing tomorrow. Then tomorrow arrives and the desk next to you is empty, and at recess your friend�s favorite swing sits vacant. That day I sat on his swing. Hoping that he was sick and he would be at school tomorrow. When I got home I remember my mom waiting by the door, opening her arms as I came through the door. She didn�t need to tell me with words. Her face spoke for her. At dinner, my mom explained what happened.
Elementary school is a blur in my mind. I met new friends, learned new things, and had a good time. Then school was over for the last time. It was in June, and everyone had a neat graduation for the leaving sixth graders. Next year I would go to the junior high school that was on the other side of town. That night was clear to me. After the ceremony was done, and everyone was in the cafeteria, I went out side and walked to the fence where I used to run to. I touched the branch where we used to climb up to and dangle on. I placed my hands on the rusty fence where we would call �Base!� when we played tag. I never forgot my first friend that I made. The friend that I was proud to own. I remember each step I took away from that tree where I spent my early years. |
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