Introduction

The following is a collection of my childhood memories. I do not guarantee absolute accuracy, but I do guarantee I'm not making it up; it's all from my actual visual memory, though some details may have changed order, size, shape or color while in storage.

I was starting kinnygarden today. I would learn how to spell and pronounce it years later. I hopped a 180 and landed on my hands and knees over my newly ironed, brown and tan plaid shirt I was to put on, that mother had laid on the clean rug near the front room (which served as my bedroom and whoever else lived at the house that wasn't a girl or a parent).

I lined up with the other kids for our first day outside in front of the stairs. I seem to remember leaves on the ground. A sculpted masonry marquee over the entrance (which was about a half a dozen steps above ground - imagine that: Of all the other entrances into the school, the kindergarten had the highest above ground. The 4th grade had one above ground, but not as high; the rest had ground level entrances from outside, but once inside on the tile, there were indoor stairs to climb) that read, "KINDERGARTEN ~ 1910." But I could not read.

I was second-to-last in line. LJ was behind me. He had a tie.

I remember the door. I remember approaching and passing through it when I was late one day and terrified, even though my brother John was with me.

The school was had a smooth stucco veneer, painted white with turquois or aqua trim. It stayed that way through my career.

A well-maintained, black-painted iron fence lined the entire front of the school. It had a concrete base about a foot high. We used to walk along the sloped top of the base, holding onto the iron. One day after school as we were so engaged (but I was not present), the twins' little sister was crushed into the iron by a car that had gone off the road. It made a concave spot in the iron. She lived.

We had fallout shelter signs on the poles along the street, but we never really realized what they were. I don't remember doing the drills. I started kindergarten in 1965.

Sometimes kids fell on their head from the jungle gyms and stuff. Bill broke his arm swinging on the high pullup bar when he dropped to the ground. We didn't have anything special under the various bars, just sand or hard asphalt. The girls twirled on the girl twirl bars in front of the 1st grade. They usually used their coats under their crooked knee as they clasped their hands under the bar and in front of their shin. Their hair would sweep the sand below, raising a dust sometimes, and digging the hole deeper.

We all steered clear of girls. Twirling was one thing they could do better. We kind of ignored that. Wrote it off as a sissy thing.

My kindergarten teacher was Mrs. Bigelow. But then it was Mrs. Nelson, I think. Something to do with a rearrangement because of someone having a baby.

We always had to wear our boots (galoshes) out of the house if there was snow. This would have kept our pants and feet dry if we ever wore them all the way to school. We would ditch them in the irrigation ditch if we felt lucky. Until I was in high school, I always had wet Converse on my feet and wet Levi's on my legs in winter. If I had had a cold and was coughing up sputem, my Levi's would be all the wetter because I didn't know what else to do with it; I would spit into my hand and wipe it on my thigh. It soaked it up well enough and dried before school was out.

I still have my purple bath towel with some adhesive medical tape sewn in one corner for to write my name, which has since all washed off. But the tape is still intact. This is a magic towel; I still have all these memories because I kept the towel. I just made that up. Anyway, this towel was for laying on to take a nap every day. A girl used to get to be the fairy and wake us up one by one by touching us with a wand with a star on the end. And there was a crown for her to wear. I don't know that I ever went to sleep though.

We learned to tell time in the second grade. We had workbooks for it. I didn't get it. I learned how later on. In second grade, it was our last year before they had school lunches. I remember having dry, salted thanksgiving turkey and butter between two slices of homemade, whole wheat bread, which was even drier, wrapped in wax paper (enabling it to dry the more), for my lunch to eat at my desk. After school, we cleaned off our desks, put our chairs upside down on top of the desk, and stood at attention until dismissed. I had a private tradition of choosing and humming a top-40 tune in my head at this point, in preparation for having a top-40 tune stuck in my head as I went about the rest of my day at home. I remember one day in particular: I chose "All the Lonely People." By the Beatles, of course. I remember Colleen Strong from that year. I remember her exclaiming to me as we lined up to go into the building (over at the NorthEast corner of the building, by the jungle gym and the teacher's parking lot, which had a single row, enough for oh, about 20 cars at the most, maybe less) that we were in the same stake! That's a church thing.

Some people who might read such isolated and particular memories I have, in which they are a player, may get a little nervous about what else I remember. Well, let me tell you, I remember it all. Especially if it was embarrassing. But nobody cares now. Still, I may not record everything; I have some that were quite devastating to some kids, bless their hearts.

Paul Kingston was my buddy at recess in the second grade. He had a kind of a leadership quality and a purple bike. He was down-to-earth enough to play with me, but despite this, he became our high school student body president. We had one thing in common though: we were both pretty decent distance runners. He did more with it though.

In third grade, we began rotating classes to different teachers somewhat. We had Mrs. Malstrom for home room but spent some time also in Miss Sinegaard's class. She took my huge spider away, which I had scored trick-or-treating. I had obviously brought it to scare Sydnie Cazier in Mrs. Malstrom's class, but was foolish enough to let it out of my pocket while in Miss Sinegaard's. Miss Sinegaard tried to die her hair once, and it turned green. We called her a witch, but looking back, I remember her as a good-natured soul in challenging circumstances.

Alan Sugino sat behind me in her class. He always got his work done early. One time, upon finishing (I think it was math), he brought out a little green piece of paper to draw on. I copied him. I tried to finish early too, and draw. As time went on, I bothered less and less to finish, and just cut to the drawing part early, or even first-thing and whole thing. Alan kept up on his work he was supposed to do, and became an honor student and a Phd. He was Paul's buddy too, and probably still is. The last time I saw either one of them (in 1982), they were together.

In the 9th grade, Alan and I somehow made it to the final championship match as opponents in our weight class, in the intramural school tournament. Usually, in gym, my legs would be purple. One day, my arms were the solid color of grape juice. I remember at one of the after-school wrestling matches, laying behind the scoring table to hide my legs from the girls and spectators. But I digress. I didn't expect Alan to beat me or give me much of a fight, because although I was very quiet, he was quieter. The bigger your mouth, the tougher you are, right? I barely - BARELY beat him. In fact, I suspect he let me have it in the end, just because he was more shy. Let me tell you, he was strong. We didn't know how to wrestle then, so being strong was key. Through it all, I learned who was strong and who had a big mouth, or a bigger intimidation than they could back up.

Speaking of the teacher's parking lot, I remember being over there one day, watching some electric line workers do their job, and learning from the dialogue between they and my big-mouth friends that electricity could get you through a wet stick. There was a wet stick in the puddle there.

Speaking of big-mouth friends (every kid was a big mouth compared to me), I used to stand there while they would bug professionals doing their job, and I would always learn something. One day, we were watching a sign painter paint a sign right in situ down on State Street. He painted straight perfect lines while my friend peppered him with questions. I tried to tell him to shut up and quit bugging the man, but the man just mocked me because I guess he wasn't bothered.