I knew I was different. Everyone could tell. It was like some kind of obvious sign that I couldn't see, but everyone around me could not just see it, but know it off the top of their heads. Right from the start, it was there. Just hovering right over me like an odor you can't wash away. I knew it was there because they could see it and made sure they let me know it was there. I remember it like it was yesterday.
Kindergarten was frightening. To a child who had nothing else in these world but his mother, being away from her was frightening and kindergarten made me realize this fear. It's not necessarily my mother, but someone in general. A fear of being alone in the cold, harsh world where no one gave a damn about a lost child, searching for this enigma called home. Right from the start, I needed someone make everything alright.
The car stopped and the engine died away as I peered my eyes out the window. There were other little children standing in front the door, waiting for something. My mother got out from the driver side and went all the way around the back seat passenger side to let me out. The door opened and I realized how gloomy of a day it was. Dark clouds blocked the sun from shining through and showed a color that seemed familiar, almost as if this was some form of deja vu. My mother grabbed my hand and led me to the door. I stood with other little children as my mother watched from a distance. Why was she far away? What was everyone waiting for?
Suddenly, the door opened and an elderly woman peered out. She was wearing a green blouse and tan pants. The decades she has seen showed on her face quite visibly and her hair was short and silver. "Why, hello, Children." She spoke to us. She exited the doorway she had appeared from and gestured us to go inside. Like obedient cattle, we did as we were told, or in this case expected to do. I didn't have to go in, but I was expected to go or else I would be made to. Children never have much choice on their life and how it is supposed to run. Of course, it's obvious why it is like that. We all complied as a mob of twelve or thirteen kids entered the room. I looked around as soon as I entered. The room was big colorful. The walls were decorated with all assortments of animals and settings to create what the elderly woman called a "safe learning environment", which to a child meant nothing. Only the parent were concerned with that sort of thing. To my left were cabinets with hooks in them. Next to them were some little boxes neatly stacked one on top of the other. These were called "cubbies", which housed personal belongings while we spend our time here.
In the very center of the room stood four large book selves, each with their back to each other and facing the four walls of the room. The two closest to me had tables and chairs in front of them. The table were light brown and very clean. The entire surface was bare with the exception of a few blue boxes neatly lined in the center of the table. Across the two cabinets adjacent to these were sink with an orange surface and towels and a black board with a mat in front of it. The elderly woman guided us to the mat and had us all sit down with our legs criss-crossed. She began talking as our parents remained at the front door. Every so often, I would turn my head and look at the door and the group began to dissolve away. It was as if the parent were leaving. Why? Don't they care about us?
My mother was still here, though. It made me feel safe inside. I felt she would never leave. My feelings, however, were wrong. I turned my head, expecting to see the face of the woman who guided my for the last five year looking back at me. She wasn't there. She left me like the others. How could she do this to me? Why? Was I bad? Tears began rushing to my eyes and flooded my face. The other children were staring back at me, as if to say, "What's wrong with him?". The elderly woman quickly remedied the situation by holding me in her arms and continuing with the lecture.
The tears stopped and I was again alone, this time used to my surroundings. It was now time for us to go outside for what our teacher affectionately called Playtime. The teacher, who name was Mrs. Anderson, led us to the door opposite from where we came from and let us go out to the playground. It was big and very spread out. Two sand pits were split from each other by a cement walkway that led to a gate entrance. Where it led was impossible to tell because it was covered. It the sand pit to my left was a slide and a jungle gym. To the right were swings. Though they seemed ever so inviting, the circumstance changed my attitude on the situation. I sat in the corner on the concrete in the shade and retreated into myself. I didn't want to talk to anybody. This was not the case, however. Two little girls, one blonde, one brunette, approached me. Both of them were wearing similar dresses and had their hairs in pony tails. The brunette, with an bossy expression, spoke out to me. "Are you done crying, crybaby?". The other dignified her insult with wild laugh. "What's with you hair?", she continued, "It looks like poodle!", she roared at the expense of my curly black hair. They gave it to me a few more times and then left to go play a game.
That day, I learned what school was. For nine months, six hours every weekday, I had to come here to gain an education so that I could function in the real world. I was also supposed to expand my social skills by making friends and talking to people. All this for 13 years straight. If this was the torture I have to put up with, the next 13 year will be the worst years of my life. I know this right from the start.
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