Kindergarten in '74

I know, I'm on a nostalgia kick.  

Things I remember about Kindergarten:

I thought my teacher (on the right) was beautiful.  And young.  And she was obviously a snappy dresser.  I liked how her name rhymed with murder.

I learned to tie my shoes.  I actually learned how to tie a fuzzy pony holder (like the ones the girl is wearing in the center of the picture) in a bow around an empty spice jar.   I thought it was the prettiest little bottle ever.  Tying eventually transferred over to my shoes, though.

I was punished once for scribbling on what I believed was someone else's {UGLY} picture.  It was the only time I had to miss snack time the entire year.  Usually there were at least two kids missing snack, but that day, I was the only one.  I hid in the tiny little playhouse in the center of the room and pretended to read a book, like I didn't care.  But I did.  I cared mostly because I had disappointed my beloved teacher, who, up to that day, I thought adored me.

Once we made a big class salad.  Yessiree bob, we were some lucky kids.  One mom brought a whole bucketload of mushrooms.  I remember her washing them, slicing them, then tossing them in the salad.  I don't think I had ever tried a raw mushroom prior to that, and was very sad to discover that I hated them.  Passionately.  No salad for me, please.  (You'll be happy to know that I like mushrooms now.)

We took a field trip to the YMCA.  To swim.  A class of Kindergarteners.  I know, what were those administrative people thinking?  I remember because it was the first time I saw a grown-up without clothes (the student teacher in the locker room).  Naked.  Like she thought we were too young to notice. It obviously was disturbing to me (along with the ensuing comments made by a fellow student), since it's one of the few Kindergarten memories bouncing around the synapses (is that what they're called?) in my brain.

I had an extreme fear of dogs.  One day, as a neighbor girl and I were walking home from school, a big, black dog showed up out of nowhere.  We were at the corner of our street, and decided to try and outrun it.  We bolted.  The dog followed.  Gina disappeared down the street, and the dog chased after me.  I tripped.  The dog was on top of me (or so I thought -- biting, eating, enjoying me for lunch).  The details are sketchy on how I eventually made it home, but I will never forget that when I finally arrived to my front door, it was locked.  It was NEVER locked.  Major panic set in as I sandwiched myself between the screen door and the door, trying to make myself thin enough to latch the screen door shut.  I'm sure within moments (time always seems longer to kids, you know), the door opened and my mom appeared.  To this day I still have some apprehension around strange dogs, especially if they are big, and extra-especially if they are black.

Tomorrow it's back to today.  Or tomorrow.  You know what I mean.

Today, I will continue to fondly recall the days when my biggest worries were canines, edible fungus, swimming pool locker rooms, and ugly artwork.  And I can sleep easier knowing that my Kindergarten memories are no longer folklore, they are actual, documented recollections from the source.