Chapter five: Kindergarten had a routine.
Rangy Ross Broadfoot
Two weeks from the day Ross Frazier found his way into Miss Kuskies' homeroom another knock at the big door. We were colouring, I looked over and thought everyone was doing a much better job at their work jobs than me. Oh well I scribbled on, adding even more black to and overdosed black picture, it was my go to colour. I know black is more of a shade than a colour. I know that now, then it was my go to. Keithy was really good he had advanced colour skills, like red, orange and green, terrific. From this deep mark of concentration was the door, we group gazed, the door opened, behind the door was a mom. Mom's only showed up if there was some no trouble or some one was sick. The Principal said a few words to Miss and then shook hands with the lady and did an about face, almost running down the hall to his office. The mom bent down and out popped a boy, short brown hair, fresh scrubbed face and wide brown eyes, this looks familiar so I looked over to Ross Frazier to see him shrug a shoulder and dash back to his colouring effort.
The mom waved, left, the boy entered, door closed and a sound like a trapped beast burst from his mouth. At first his face shrivelled into a sour lemon face, a I have to go to the bathroom face a face no kid wants to see on themselves in the mirror. He started to make a wake wailing pitched sound that rose and rose and rose, it passed the level of a fire engine, through the sound nails make on a chalk board all the while to a soundless high bravado to the realm of a sound only dogs could hear. Then the tears came and Miss Kuskie reached into her pocket to pull out a handful of tissue, which seemed to bury his ever reddening tearful face, my oh my, we have fun in kindergarten. Ross Broadfoot quieted down considerably and by the end of quiet time, nap time and by snack time he was a veteran of the class. He raised his hand to ask to go to the washroom, we were impressed.
YOU ARE READING
Take off your hat, I want to stand up.
HumorThis is a story about the life of my mom, Eve Fulton. I started writing letters to her, two or three a week for several years. They talked about our journey together as a family and the issues we faced. When my mom passed, a volunteer came up to me...
