Small Town Soup
by Karrie McAllister
My first and second first days of kindergarten
I carried a metal Strawberry Shortcake™ lunchbox and a red backpack on my first day of kindergarten, and I wore a red raincoat. But that’s as far as my memory takes me. In fact, I don’t remember much about that first day in my academic career. I don’t remember riding the bus, and I don’t remember sitting in the classroom. I do remember that my teacher had a difficult name to pronounce, and that she had short dark hair and that she loved teddy bears, but I’m sure not all of those things were so apparent to me on my very first day.
My mother, however, tells a different story.
She will tell you, in full detail, that I wore my favorite red, white, and blue plaid dress. And that it was raining, and she was worried that I’d splash in puddles at the bus stop and not keep my white socks and little Mary Jane shoes clean. She will tell you that inside that Strawberry Shortcake™ lunchbox, she packed the usual: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, grapes, HoHos®, and milk money. And then she’ll tell you that when I brought home the leftovers, I had eaten two bites of sandwich, the entire HoHos® and nothing else.
She will tell you that she had big plans for my first day of school. She was anticipating the freedom of no children at home, so she could run errands and meet friends, and as she stood at the end of our driveway and waved goodbye to me on the bus, she knew right then and there, that there was no way she was going to leave the house that day.
The school might call. I might need her.
So after a little cry with our neighbor, she went inside and waited — all day — until the bus brought my smiling face back home.
She will tell you it was “the longest day of my life.”
My daughter carried a soft-sided purple lunchbox with a butterfly on it, a red backpack and a green jacket on her first day of school. (There was a chance of rain.)
My daughter will tell you the specifics of her teacher in a way only a child can. Chances are my daughter will tell me about what her teacher looks like and the things she likes, but these specific memories take time.
I will tell you that my daughter wore a green dress and stylish socks, and that even though she would rather have worn her flip-flops, we mutually decided on something more suitable. I will tell you that I worried about what to pack in her lunch, wondering whether or not she could open the packages, and whether or not she would eat the crusts of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich like I’m always telling her to do. I will tell you that I did not pack HoHos®. Times have changed.
I will tell you that I had big plans for my time when one child was in school. With only one at home, errands and playdates seemed so much easier. It was impossible to fight over the TV, or snacks or toys. I thought for sure I would be able to really get things done.
But as I dropped my daughter off at her school on that very first day, I fought back the tears, wanting to appear stronger than I am. I pulled away and my three-year-old son asked why I was crying — maybe someday he’ll understand. Then again, maybe he won’t.
Maybe someday he’ll understand why I said, “We need to go home, just in case,” even though I was fully aware that the school had my cell phone number.
After a good cry, I spent the day at home, snuggling my son before he, too, takes that leap into his academic career.
At the end of the day, we picked my daughter up and I watched as she, her smiling face and her red backpack climbed into the back of the car.
It was the longest day of my life. Some things never change.
 Karrie McAllister, Webmaster and Regular Columnist, has dabbled in everything from coal mining to culinary classes. She and her family live in Northeast Ohio where conversations in the grocery store and pierogis are as common as Amish buggies. Her local column, Small Town Soup, appears in local newspapers and her writing has appeared on numerous web sites. She is slowly discovering the benefits of being a stay at home mom, including mid-afternoon naps, staying in pajamas until noon, as many leftover PBJ sandwich crusts as she wants, and being constantly entertained by her two nutty children. Read more of Karrie's small town tales at her website, www.KarrieMcAllister.com.
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