In Kindergarten I had to stand in the corner. The corner.
Of our classroom.
In 1973 that happened. It would never happen today.
I think I laughed and looked at the boy in the opposite corner who I liked. Who was also in trouble. With me.
That young even.
In kindergarten I drew a picture of a squirrel which was apparently. Advanced.
My mother still has this drawing rolled up in importance in her closet.
I was paddled with a wooden paddle for getting up out of my wooden seat and for what.
My teacher had left the room.
In first grade I carried a Barbie lunchbox. Pink. With a thermos.
On the way to lunch it came open and the contents of my mom packed lunch fell on the ground. Under the covered walkway. Egg salad and potato chips and a Little Debbie. I went to the end of the line. While the line progressed.
Fine with me.
7th grade for talking.
My mouth has gotten me in trouble plenty.
But this time mom called the school and wanted to know why.
That’s not a trouble reason.
It did not happen again.
My loud mouth could never sing
In 3rd grade my music teacher thought it would be a good idea
when I knew it was a bad idea all along.
If I sang a solo in our 3rd grade performance.
It was a program about Pecos Bill.
I guess cowboys were part of the curriculum.
I did as was suggested of me
And the entire class ended up singing my part instead of just me.
I could have told my music teacher in advance that would be the outcome
But adults know best.
They think they do.
Dad drove me to school and stayed to watch me sing my solo with the entire third grade.
I remember this.
We had to wear plaid shirts and jeans. Just like cowboys.
On the way home we stopped at a gas station.
I remember thinking it would be terrible if my dad and I were kidnapped at the gas station.
We would need someone like Pecos Bill to save us. If he was around.
In church mom and dad sang.
The benediction. The doxology. And everything else. Stand up. Sit down.
In church we always sat up front and on the right.
Everything was clean. I tried drawing on those tiny envelopes with tiny pencils.
I looked forward to lunch.
I usually sat next to mom. We were all strategically placed.
I could hear mom and dad singing. Because.
I would only pretend to sing.