One lazy afternoon, my mom took me out to run errands, just like we did every week. I sat snugly in the back, strapped into my car-seat gazing out the window, watching the cars and houses as we zipped past them. We were listening to KFOG as mom rambled on about things I didn't understand, like taxes and dad's job. Still, though, she was lighthearted, and it was comforting to listen to her voice. We stopped at a stop sign somewhere in Pleasant Hill, and mom directed my attention out the other window.
"You see that building over there?" she pointed giddily. "That's where you're going to preschool!"
I froze. Oh, God, no... I had seen school on TV, and it looked awful. I just figured that since I had already gone 5 years without it, I would never have to go. But no. I was wrong.
We continued to drive, still listening to corny pop music, like we always did. I pretended I was fine, but on the inside, I was panicking. I would have evil teachers. I would have the frightening potential of getting F's. I would have to actually be by myself for the first time in my life. Of course, in retrospect, it was just preschool, and it wasn't nearly as bad as I had imagined it to be. But I did leave the golden era of being a toddler. I could no longer hang around the house all day eating popsicles, getting intentionally dizzy in the entrance way (there was always plenty of space for that), watching pointless TV, or teasing my cat. Suddenly, I had responsibilities to attend to. I had places I needed to be, and I would for the rest of my life.
Preschool, contrary to prior belief, was actually quite fun. We were separated into groups- yellow, red, blue, and green. I was in the green group, however, I remember wanting so badly to be in the yellow group. I'm not sure what it was, but it seemed established that the yellow group was the cool group. Anyone who was anyone was in the yellow group. But no. I was in boring old green. I think this dawned a series of events that would define me as not ever being in the "cool" group. I used to be really upset about it, but I've grown comfortable in my "green group". That's where my home is. I was never "yellow" material, anyway.
There was nothing particularly special that defined what group you were in. They all just had different rooms and had things to do at different times. My favorite room was the singing room, which is strange, because I don't have any special talent for singing now. In fact, I'm certifiably terrible. But I remember loving how it felt to make music together. It was the only room that every group went to at the same time, so no matter how cool you were, you sat side by side on the parallel strips of tape on the carpet. We would sit down, antsy like children, while one of the teachers played the piano, and we'd sing public domain songs. Every little voice in the room burst out into song, totally vulnerable, and equal to their preschool brethren. I just found it empowering somehow. It's funny how little we change as we get older. You know? We may change in some things, like how we look, and what we want, but in the end, when you look deep inside yourself, you haven't changed at all. You're still affected by your innocent memories. And back then, there in that music room, I was beginning to discover my deep passion for making music, being apart of something, and being creative. Those things would never change. I'm still that little girl.
I also learned about the concepts I hated. When we were done singing, our group would go into this game room with all these puzzles and little science experiments displayed on tables; mind-trick kind of things. Sure, it was fun playing with some of the things they had out, but I remember losing interest quickly. I would look out the window and watch the swaying trees outside. I have the distinct memory of observing a girl with a pony-tail tied straight up, vertical to her head, sprouting outward like a fountain. I found her hair more fascinating than the experiments. I think it was there that I realized that logic was not my strong suit, nor did it grasp my interest. It's not that I was stupid or naive to the mechanics of how physical things worked, (although you can't ask much from a 5 year old) it's just that I preferred the arts. I never liked things having just one right answer. I liked how when you were singing, you weren't commended for being right, but you were commended for participating. For being yourself. That idea always appealed to me.
When we weren't in a room "learning", we were outside having recess. They had a little playground with things to climb on and whatnot, and they would take out various toys to play with. Although I loved to run around and be outside just like any other kid, my absolute favorite pass-time during recess was to play My Little Pony. I had two friends in preschool; Olivia, and another girl who I can't for the life of me remember the name of. I always felt terrible about that, but I believe it started with a C, and in my defense, it wasn't a typical name like Olivia, it was a name with a lot of syllables and consonants. But regardless of their names, we would take the plastic ponies into the singing room (it just had such a friendly air to it- the sun streaming through the windows and onto the carpet, smiley faces on the walls) and we would pour them all out to play with. We'd give them all ridiculous and frankly unoriginal names, like "Pinky" and "Yellowy", but we made up for it by giving them interesting personalities and families. That was what I loved so much about playing with them; I loved the stories. I loved making up the details of their lives. I loved making one in love with another. They weren't just ponies, they were people. It was the thing I looked forward to doing every day.
Not a day passes that I don't linger on my childhood for a moment. I'm constantly reminded of it whenever I pass by that building, the one that mom told me so excitedly I would be going to school at. And now I'm almost finished with high school. I may have gotten taller, less cute, and more cynical, but I truly am still in that green group, longing for the next song to sing.
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