I remember my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Britton. \u00a0She was a heavy set woman who wore thick lensed eye glasses. \u00a0Her glasses seemed dwarfed by her face. \u00a0I adored her. \u00a0It was easy to see that I loved going to kindergarten everyday. \u00a0I couldn’t stop skipping. \u00a0I was in the big-kids school. \u00a0Our classroom had a playhouse. \u00a0We sat 4 to a table on tiny chairs at a round table.<\/p>\n
I learned how to write my name in cursive while in kindergarten. \u00a0I watched my Mom and then emulated her handwriting. \u00a0I asked her to write my name in cursive. \u00a0She showed me. \u00a0Oh, all those swirling letters. A-L-E-C-I-A looked so fancy. \u00a0Grown-ups wrote in this code. \u00a0I would write like this!<\/strong>\u00a0 I practiced and practiced.<\/p>\n One day in school, when it was time to write our names on the back of our art projects, I proudly wrote my name in cursive. \u00a0Mrs. Britton hung our art in the hallway. \u00a0She pulled me aside. \u00a0She flipped over my art. \u00a0She pointed to my name. \u00a0She asked why I wrote my name like that. \u00a0I proudly told her and my classmates that I had learned cursive. \u00a0She told me not to do it again. \u00a0She firmly said I would learn cursive in an older grade and that I needed to stay with my class learning to print. \u00a0She looked disappointed. \u00a0I didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Britton. \u00a0I was mortified. \u00a0Quivering-lip, fighting-back-tears mortified. \u00a0I had done something wrong and everyone heard her say it. \u00a0When I got home, I cried.<\/p>\n Every week, two kindergarteners were assigned the job of “turning-in” the milk money. \u00a0Mrs. Britton collected the money from us, placed our money and parent form in an envelop and then trusted us to walk all the way down the hall to the office. \u00a0It was a huge responsibility.<\/p>\n When it was my week to “turn-in” the money, I was elated. \u00a0My buddy and I headed to the office. \u00a0We walked carefully. \u00a0This was an important job. \u00a0Actually this was the<\/strong> most important job in kindergarten. \u00a0Once we had given the envelop to the office, we began the walk back to our classroom. \u00a0We were alone, 2 triumphant kindergardeners, passing the 2nd grade classrooms. \u00a0We walked with pride. \u00a0As we approached the 1st grade classroom, a boy stepped into the hallway. \u00a0I knew him. \u00a0His name was Curtis and he had been in the same nursery school with me. \u00a0He was a year older. \u00a0In nursery school he had a girlfriend. \u00a0For the nursery school Halloween party, he was dressed as a groom and his girlfriend was dressed as a bride. \u00a0I was in awe of Curtis. \u00a0Now he was a first grader. \u00a0I smiled at him. \u00a0He sneered back. \u00a0As we walked past him, he began to speak. \u00a0I looked at him and he slowly whispered, “Kindergarten Babies”. \u00a0I was floored! \u00a0Curtis called me<\/strong> a baby. \u00a0I was not<\/strong> a baby. \u00a0We continued our walk back to our classroom. it was like the wind was knocked out of me. \u00a0Kindergarten Babies? \u00a0Kindergarten Babies! \u00a0Why would he say that? \u00a0We had just been in charge of the milk money. \u00a0I was devastated. \u00a0According to my parents, \u00a0I couldn’t even tell them the story when I came home. \u00a0I was crying that hard. \u00a0I quivering-lip-sobbed, “He….*sob*, he… *sob*, he called me…*sob*, he said we….*sob*, were Kindergarten… *sob, sob, sob*, KINDERGARTEN BABIES!”<\/p>\n Every teacher after Mrs. Britton dealt with more than just me, they dealt with me and diabetes. \u00a0As I listened to the breaking news today, I was dumbfounded by the horrific tragedy which occurred in Newtown, Connecticut. \u00a0I listened at my desk while this senseless story developed. \u00a0I walked home from work with a heavy heart. \u00a0 I arrived home, shut the door, sat down, hugged my dog and cried.<\/p>\n Those kids were indeed Kindergarten Babies. \u00a0My heart aches for them and their families. \u00a0I cry for those children who witnessed this travesty and I hope somehow, some way they remain just that, babies.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I remember my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Britton. \u00a0She was a heavy set woman who wore thick lensed eye glasses. \u00a0Her glasses seemed dwarfed by her face. \u00a0I adored her. \u00a0It was easy to see that I loved going to kindergarten … Continue reading