The idea of me going to school early is one that has bothered me for a lifetime. In retrospect I think that starting school when one is not emotionally prepared is not a great idea. With our daughter MillieJupiter and son, CollegeBoy, we dealt with the same issues, and I’m note sure we did the right thing then either. In my previous post I said: “I was too immature for school then, and this issue dogged me well into college as I was always younger than my school mates and more immature too. This was a source of extreme conflict for me. Understand first that my mother went “out on a limb” insisting I was ready for school and so she kept tight reins on me.” To give this a better perspective, because of the Catholic School Policy and my mother’s rule bending, I was the youngest kid in the class, and would be for all 8 grades of my grammar school career. I was at least 5 months short of the official start age date, and in reality was 8-10 months younger than everyone else. I did not go to kindergarten, was home for my whole life up to that point with an overprotective, and maternally centered (mother and grandmother) system, so I was doomed. It continued thru my starting college as again I was always the youngest and needed to grow up a bit to say the least. I don’t think I felt like I ever caught up to my friends even during college. It was going out and living on my own and working at my first couple of jobs that finally solidified that concept of adulthood for me and got me away from feeling so immature as compared to others.
As I thought about this whole situation recently, one issue that I didn’t realize bothered me much then but did so more later in life, was my mother’s reaction to my brother Mike in this. He was a May baby, two years younger than I and more than a month short of the cutoff Catholic School date. By my standards he was more than ready to confront the challenges of grammar school. However, perhaps because of the experience with me, or maybe as a result of the angst of all my issues, Mike got a choice and it stuck in my craw then. I’m note sure he even remembers the situation, but I do. It was a Labor Day Monday and school was to begin the next day. I was upstairs getting my school uniform ready for the next day when I saw my mother standing at the top of the stairs, next to my room. She called down to Mike, who was in the downstairs hall and said “So Michael, do you want to start school tomorrow?” Mike looked up and after a couple of seconds said simply “No” and that was that. There was some discussion between my parents and grandmother about this being best, etc. but nothing further I was privy to. He stayed home that next day and for the entire year and so that is why even though he is only 2 years 3 months younger than me, he was 3 grades behind.
Am I bitter to this day? Nahhhhhh, not so much...
Showing posts with label kindergarten. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kindergarten. Show all posts
September 9, 2010
September 8, 2010
Labor Day, Hurricanes and the First Day of School
This time of year always puts me in mind of these three separate ideas which over time have become entangled together in my mind. I thought I would explain how this happens for me.
I was born in February 1955 so in September 1960 I was 5 ½ years old, too young for the first grade by the Catholic School Standards, which required you to be 6 years old by July 1st of the year you were to begin first grade. However my mother used her influence to get me tested before the previous school year ended, to see if I was “ready” for the first grade early. I can remember sitting in a school desk in the middle of the gym, facing a single Sister of Mercy nun, in the classic nun/penguin suit, while the hustle and bustle of the grammar school went on around us. I guess I passed, not remembering the questions now, but I was given a glimpse into the first grade classroom of Mrs. Menzie as we left, and being told this was where I would be in September.
First grade was to begin the day after Labor Day in 1960 but this plan was interrupted by Hurricane Donna. “For nine days, September 2 to September 11, Donna consistently had maximum sustained winds of at least 115 mph (185 km/h). From the time it became a tropical depression to when it dissipated after becoming an extratropical storm, Donna roamed the Atlantic from August 29 to September 14, a total of 17 days. While crossing the Atlantic, Donna briefly achieved Category 5 strength” (Thanks Wiki for the hurricane information). I was all set to begin but class was cancelled that first day. We sat in our kitchen watching several large trees in our yard sway until a large one, in the corner of the yard, broke, crushing our and a neighbors’ fence. I remember late that afternoon and the next day watching our neighbors’ son, cutting up and removing the fallen tree. He was about 16, very handsome boy, the kind a six year old would look up to. He was a good kid. A couple of years later, he enlisted in the Navy and died soon after in a training accident, the victim of drowning. I remember there being all sorts of whispers about this event – alcohol related, fight related, and can remember years later wondering if he was an early victim of the Viet Nam War that was gearing up in the early 1960’s.
I was too immature for school then, and this issue dogged me well into college as I was always younger than my school mates and more immature too. This was a source of extreme conflict for me. Understand first that my mother went “out on a limb” insisting I was ready for school and so she kept tight reins on me. Nothing happened in the class that was not relayed home by the time my day had ended, whether by my teacher, a fellow teacher or school principal, all who were good friends with my mother. Two situations stand out, both involving another boy with whom I had an obvious personality conflict. One day we were working on math concepts and Mrs. Menzie had a large container of wooden blocks. Somehow, this other boy, Michael Harrington, his name I believe, got into a block building pissing match which ended with us knocking over each others block towers we had built on our desks. Needless to say, I was punished that night at home and the next day saw a new “ONLY TEN BLOCKS PER PERSON” Policy in place in the class room. I mean we were doing simple single digit math, no need for 50 blocks now was there?
I was born in February 1955 so in September 1960 I was 5 ½ years old, too young for the first grade by the Catholic School Standards, which required you to be 6 years old by July 1st of the year you were to begin first grade. However my mother used her influence to get me tested before the previous school year ended, to see if I was “ready” for the first grade early. I can remember sitting in a school desk in the middle of the gym, facing a single Sister of Mercy nun, in the classic nun/penguin suit, while the hustle and bustle of the grammar school went on around us. I guess I passed, not remembering the questions now, but I was given a glimpse into the first grade classroom of Mrs. Menzie as we left, and being told this was where I would be in September.
First grade was to begin the day after Labor Day in 1960 but this plan was interrupted by Hurricane Donna. “For nine days, September 2 to September 11, Donna consistently had maximum sustained winds of at least 115 mph (185 km/h). From the time it became a tropical depression to when it dissipated after becoming an extratropical storm, Donna roamed the Atlantic from August 29 to September 14, a total of 17 days. While crossing the Atlantic, Donna briefly achieved Category 5 strength” (Thanks Wiki for the hurricane information). I was all set to begin but class was cancelled that first day. We sat in our kitchen watching several large trees in our yard sway until a large one, in the corner of the yard, broke, crushing our and a neighbors’ fence. I remember late that afternoon and the next day watching our neighbors’ son, cutting up and removing the fallen tree. He was about 16, very handsome boy, the kind a six year old would look up to. He was a good kid. A couple of years later, he enlisted in the Navy and died soon after in a training accident, the victim of drowning. I remember there being all sorts of whispers about this event – alcohol related, fight related, and can remember years later wondering if he was an early victim of the Viet Nam War that was gearing up in the early 1960’s.
I was too immature for school then, and this issue dogged me well into college as I was always younger than my school mates and more immature too. This was a source of extreme conflict for me. Understand first that my mother went “out on a limb” insisting I was ready for school and so she kept tight reins on me. Nothing happened in the class that was not relayed home by the time my day had ended, whether by my teacher, a fellow teacher or school principal, all who were good friends with my mother. Two situations stand out, both involving another boy with whom I had an obvious personality conflict. One day we were working on math concepts and Mrs. Menzie had a large container of wooden blocks. Somehow, this other boy, Michael Harrington, his name I believe, got into a block building pissing match which ended with us knocking over each others block towers we had built on our desks. Needless to say, I was punished that night at home and the next day saw a new “ONLY TEN BLOCKS PER PERSON” Policy in place in the class room. I mean we were doing simple single digit math, no need for 50 blocks now was there?
The second situation was more serious. My angst partner in crime, Michael Harrington, and I were conflicting over pencils as we were allowed to go to the back of the room to sharpen them and of course both of us wanted the sharpest pencil. In the course of pushing and shoving and strutting, Michael jerked his arm and stabbed a fellow student, girl type, in the arm. Not seriously, but bleeding none the less. Amid all the yelling and crying, both Michael and I were sentenced to walk home right then and there and not return until we had a note form our parents. Needless to say punishment ensued and a first grade girl will wear the scar of a lead pencil stabbing for the rest of her life.
To follow is a commentary about starting school earlier than one should…
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