Kindergarten Baby Born in the Gravy

Because there were so many baby boomers, Ivanhoe Elementary School had to have two classes a year.  Depending upon your date of birth you either started school in September or January.  I was in the January group. 

Our classes were filled with names that no one wants to name their kids today.  Almost all the girls had middle names that were either Ann(e) or Lee. Their first names were Lois, Bonnie, Kitty, Shelly—lots of Shellys—Carol, Susan, Kathy, Denise, Nancy, Janice, Monica, Janine, and Jill.  The boys had names like Greg, Harvey, Gary, Nelson, Stanley, Duane, Mel, Raymond, Curtis, Owen, Gerry, Buzz, Dink, Jim and Pudgy.

 I challenge you to find any of these names in a contemporary elementary school.

Kindergarten was only half day. You either went in the morning or the afternoon.  Mrs. Anderson was right out of central casting from “Leave It to Beaver.”  She was old and kind and had gray hair and wore pencil skirts.  When someone erred—always a boy—they were sent to sit by the radiator.  On rainy days this seemed like something quite inviting.

 I envied the boys their cozy flannel shirts and Levis. Their hair was either a crew cut or a Brylcreemed short back and sides.  Girls were always in dresses with their hair done by attentive mothers who had time to braid, barrette, and ribbon. One of the memories of my grandfather’s death was that my mother had to leave the house suddenly and we went to school, the first time ever, and somehow shamefully, without having our hair done.

 Mrs. Anderson liked to read to us.  Her stories left me a bit bored and in trying to entertain myself during one of her “on the rug” sessions I spent the time holding out my tongue to see how dry I could get it. Mrs. Anderson was not impressed and told me it was “unladylike.”

 I guess one of life’s big shockers hit me in Mrs. Anderson’s class.  It was Halloween and we were busy coloring inside the lines of pumpkin on a worksheet. All I could think about was how it was so unfair to have to go to school on a day that I thought was a national holiday.  In my home, Halloween was second only to Christmas.

 Always mindful of health (i.e. weight gain), my mother didn’t serve a lot of pasta.  They were called “noodles” in those days. My father’s childhood had been filled with meals stretched with flour and water, and he was not a big fan of “noodles.” But on Halloween we were always treated to the quintessential comfort food; macaroni and cheese. “Because it’s orange” and fit with the theme.  How “wilted lettuce” with vinegar and bacon got into the mix, is anyone’s idea.  Dessert was two scoops of Baskin Robbins: black licorice and pumpkin.

Mrs. Anderson’s class was also the first time that I realized my family had different standards than others. One girl in my glass had been given a wristwatch. When I asked for one I was told in no uncertain terms that I was too young and not responsible enough. When I finally got one, a few years later, I found that I hated the sound of the ticking and saw it as a countdown to death.

The kindergarten had its own playground and compound; one tree, a jungle gym--surrounded by chain link fence. I never really noticed this until I made the rank of first grader and was on the other side of the fence.  “Kindergarten baby, born in the gravy” we chanted through the fence. We were “big kids” now.