bits of kindergarten

I probably speak of this book too often and perhaps I am gleaning more meaning from it than it actually holds, but I absolutely love Audrey Niffenegger's, The Time Traveler's Wife. I have probably read parts of it over a hundred times. It's one of the very few books that has maintained its status as one of my favorites for a longer period of time than one month.

In the very beginning, I identify with this part:

"Silence. I am trying to look harmless, and nice. Nice looms large in Clare's childhood, because so many people aren't."

I am inclined to agree with these sentiments. Nice looms large in my childhood in the same way. Maybe that's because I have remembered only the harsher, sadder things about growing up. I tend to loop the tragic bits of loss and defamation that occur to me in an incessant manner so, it would make a whole lot of sense for me to think I grew up being made fun of all the time. Or perhaps, I was in truth, made fun of a lot.

One of my earliest memories of kindergarten is being walked into the classroom understanding English but having very little ability to speak it. I remember kids laughing and saying I was stupid because I couldn't speak. I remember this one girl in particular pointing at me and calling me a smelly, stupid girl. I remember that was probably the first time I felt like my insides were fighting to remain inside. My face turned a deep amber shade and I tried to stay away from her for the rest of the year. I know her name still. I remember that was the first time I felt inferior, more than just not belonging, but feeling like I did't even exist in the same arena.

Any kindness I was offered in kindergarten has been forgotten. I mostly remember instances of complete humiliation. I remember being terrified every morning I woke up. I remember crying, and throwing huge fits and refusing to let my mom leave as she dropped me off.

I would throw myself on the ground and scream and scream until the capillaries around my eyes burst and I lost my voice. I would then try to 'trick' my teachers into saying I was going to the bathroom when, in actuality, I was going after my mom. The fact that she left me in what I saw as a seething hell hole would then throw me into another fit, this time of anger at her gall-how dare she leave me here? her only daughter? (yes, it seems, I have always been a bit of a drama queen) Every morning, for the first 5 months of kindergarten, this was the routine. I despised kindergarten and most of elementary school for that matter. I constantly felt ill equipped for the situation. I was different and I did not want to be.