Writing Assignment #2: The First Day of School

I can’t say I remember the very first day of school, but I do remember kindergarten, vividly. I attended Holy Family, a Catholic elementary school in Poland, Ohio. I know that on the first day of school, which was sometime in September 1965, I was five years old, and I had a six year old brother in first grade, a seven year old sister in third grade, and a 9 year old brother in fourth grade. I also had a three year old sister, a two year old brother, and a one year old sister at home. Oh, and my mother was in her ninth month of pregnancy. So I guess I was kind of on the assembly line of Bonifaces that was to parade through Holy Family during the 60’s. The various teachers over those years always knew everything about me before I even got there, based on their experiences with the siblings who preceded me.

Unlike the rest of the school, which encompassed grades K through 8, the kindergartners did not have to wear uniforms. The girls in the upper grades wore plaid jumpers with white blouses, and red bow ties with tails. On days when schoolchildren attended mass, usually once a week (besides Sundays), the girls also wore red beanies on their heads. The beanies lasted until about third grade, which is probably around the time Vatican II finally filtered through to the suburbs of the Midwest.

I learned two things about life in kindergarten. I learned the first thing when my “boyfriend,” a neighbor with whom we carpooled who was also the age of five, refused to associate with me when he was around his friends. I followed him around at school and tried to play as usual, but he ignored me. Lesson One: Boys can’t be trusted.

I learned the second thing when the day arrived for the firetruck to visit our school. For some reason, on that day girls were to attend in the morning, and boys were to attend in the afternoon, which was when I normally attended. Either I forgot to tell my mother of the change in schedule or she forgot (with all those kids running around, I’m guessing it’s the latter), but in any case I arrived in the afternoon as usual, only to discover I was the only girl. When it came time for the kids to climb on the firetruck, I was not allowed, but I was invited to sit in the cab of the truck, along with a boy who had a broken arm. It seemed that being a girl was on a par with having an injury. Lesson Two: Girls are not equal to boys. Nonetheless, I felt special and the other kids were very envious when I got to turn on the siren.

Thankfully, these “lessons” were later proved wrong. Overall, I liked my school, and my older siblings did a good job paving the way for me.



Kindergarten 1965