There’s something special about the first day of school. Even now, I find myself anticipating the beginning of a new adventure when those first yellow busses appear, loaded with chattering children, backpacks bursting with school supplies. I wonder how many of them are excited about the new adventure, how many are dreading the unknown challenges, how many are anxious to find last year’s best friend, or hoping the class bully has moved to a new school. My biggest worry was nearly always if I would remember my new teacher’s name, or would I relive the embarrassing fiasco of my first day of kindergarten. Her name was Miss Simon. I had repeated it over and over every day since we registered for school over a week before. There were no “Kindergarten round-ups” in my hometown at the time. We had visited our new classrooms and met our teachers briefly on registration day, but our only glimpse of what school would actually be like was limited to having “visited” school with an older sibling at some time in the past, and the experience of “playing school” at home – a fantasy limited to recess, coloring books and learning to sing “I’m a Little Teapot” with gestures.
On my first day of kindergarten, I repeated “Miss Simon” about a hundred times in my head and several times out loud that afternoon as I walked the six blocks east from our house. I went around the school building to the side door that led to the former storeroom converted for the new kindergarten (a concept that many school systems were slow to adopt.) There were morning and afternoon sessions. We would switch for the second semester when I would learn that I was not a “morning person.”
The classroom was cheery, painted a soothing pale green with windows high on the walls, a piano, chalkboards and three low tables surrounded by child-size chairs. There were name tags taped on the table-tops. I’d seen the room briefly on registration day but it seemed different filled with children, all curiously looking each other over and subdued among so many strangers. The teacher wore a pinkish-orange dress almost the exact color of the canned salmon that was one of my favorite meals when baked into one of Mother’s tasty salmon loaves.
We were seated alphabetically and instructed to stand, say “Good afternoon,” and introduce ourselves. The boy across from me stood, “Good afternoon everyone. My name is Charles Anderson.” Next, Betty Brooks followed his example in a shy voice. Another Betty with the last name of Brown followed, less shy but in a hoarse voice that startled me. Ray Darrah came next, then Tom Goff, followed by an empty chair. “Norma Jo Grill well be here next week,” Miss Simon told us. “She is unable to be here today.” I had met Norma Jo and her mother on registration day. Her mother said that Norma Jo had a heart murmur and her activities were limited, especially on the very hot days of late summer. I felt just a little smug about knowing the reason.
Too suddenly it was my turn. Aware that each child had simply imitated Charles’s example, I decided to be more original. I stood and smiled at Miss Simon. She looked pretty as a movie star with her shining auburn hair making a pleasing contrast to the salmon colored dress. “My name is Mildred Hanson,” I stated confidently and started to sit down. Then realizing I had left out a greeting, I added, “And good afternoon, Miss Salmon.” A low chuckle came from the boy across from me, and a muffled giggle from the Bettys. I felt my face turn hot. “Thank you, Mildred,” our teacher said with a smile. “It is a good afternoon because I get to meet all of you,” and she turned to the second table. I was soon absorbed in the new names and faces of the rest of the class and my embarrassment faded.
After school, Charles kindly said, “Most of them didn’t remember her name anyway. It was sorta’ funny, though.” Relieved, I was glad to agree. Betty Brown tapped my arm and pointed, “Do you live over this way? Can we walk home together?” It soon became a habit for we three to start home together nearly every day – and that’s just one of the ways that life-long friendships begin.