If you have read my other notes, you know that I work on the top floor of an office building. It is located in a mixed section of town that is both residential and commercial. Depending on what window on what side of the building you look out of your scenery will be one or the other.
This afternoon I was at one of my staff's cubes as I needed to speak to her about something. To all those managers out there, I assure you, it was work related. Since she was finishing up a conversation with someone else, I decided I would rather bide my time there and wait instead of walk back to my cube only to get a call from her that she was ready to talk to me just as I was bending my knees lowering my butt into in my chair. The windows she is situated near have a residential/commercial mix. This means that some of the houses are just for living and others are the home of a business. I turned to look out the window and across the street movement caught my eye. One of the houses is a daycare. At the front door made of glass and wood I noticed a little boy holding a stuffed animal standing inside looking out. Many things crossed my mind in a matter of seconds because, you know, I'm really quick like that.
Was he sad? Was he lonely? Was he bored? Where was everyone else? Did all the kids play that close to the front of the house? Where was the adult? Was he looking out the door for any signs of his guardian?
That last thought triggered a very clear memory. My first day of nursery school. It isn't even called that anymore. Raise your hand if you feel old. Doesn't nursery school sound better than pre-k in an innocent kind of way?
Back to my memory.
I remember sitting in the back seat of the car while my mom chattered away about how she was taking me to a place where I would have so much fun and there would be other kids to play with and everyone would be so nice....la di da di da. We pulled up to this unfamiliar building and there must have been some kind of religious symbol out front because I remember thinking that if I am Jewish why am I being taken to a place that wasn't? I don't know if I said anything or not but I do remember my mother reassuring me that that was ok. Now that I think about it some more, I probably did say something. At 4 or 5 I was actively questioning my mother's decision-making prowess.
Mom took my hand and I remember walking up some stairs and down a hallway. We got to the door and I panicked. I did not want to cross the threshold into the room. I did not want to be away from my mother. It was a bright, sunny, and welcoming room but it may as well have been the abyss to hell.
The teacher had short dark hair piled high on top (it was the sixties) held together with hairspray and teasing. She seemed very tall to me as she came over quickly as, I'm sure, she was correctly assessing the situation and needed to take control of it before it got out of hand and scared the other kids. The details of the three-way conversation are sketchy, but I remember being assured that I would have fun and it was ok because my mom would be back for me in a little bit. As my hand slipped out of my mother's and the teacher took it into hers, a wide gaping empty whole formed in my body. I had never felt so empty. How would I make it?
The teacher nodded to my mother and my mother left. I have to hand it to whoever this woman was because she just kept talking to me and brought me to the play area where the boys had their section and the girls had theirs. The sections were marked off by the back wall, the side walls, and a short wall in between. We could see each other over it and stand in front of it to talk to each other but we were not allowed to enter the opposite sexes area.
The girls section had the play stove and an assortment of kitchen items. It had dolls and other stupid boring stuff. I looked over at what the boys had and was immediately jealous. They had those cardboard fake bricks and cars and trucks. Why did they get the all the fun stuff? Why was I not allowed to play over there just because I was a girl? This was not fair at all and I had to find a way to be able to play with their toys, too.
My emptiness became manageable as indignation filled my chest and I had something other than sadness to focus on. My mom did pick me up that day as promised and each day after that when she dropped me off, as that emptiness returned, I reassured myself that she would be back again.
I know as I grew more accustomed to my surroundings on a regular basis I argued with my teacher about this secularization until I had a small victory. I remember the day I was allowed to play with some of the stuff in the boy's section and vice a versa. I stayed on the periphery because I didn't want to venture in alone but I was so happy to have the freedom, to have the choice. I also recall the other girls wondering why I wanted to play with the boy's stuff so much when our things were so great. I didn't try to explain. Come to find out, there were some boys that wanted to play with the girls things, too.
I'm not going to get all philosophical. It's just a slice of life from a little girl.
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