Once Upon a Time: True Stories of an Aspiring Writer

3: How to Succeed in Quaker School Without Really Trying

WHEN I WAS IN PRESCHOOL, my teachers noticed that I was "different." If by "different" they meant that I sometimes preferred playing on my own as opposed to with friends, then they were right on the money. 

I also made several great friends. One of them became a longtime family friend, and her sister babysat us later on. Unfortunately, I guess I wasn't hitting the exact social benchmarks that the charts said I should be, or had *quite* as many friends as the "experts" said I should. Or something like that. I wasn't paying attention back then. 

But the thing was, back then, I also just loved to create on my own sometimes. Nobody hated this more than teachers and parents. At that age, the slightest display of introversion was a major concern. It was a terrible affliction that led to the worst punishment a person could receive: never fitting in. Alone-ness was something to be remedied. 

I created stories with the toy dogs and the animal Legos and even have the plastic letters talk with each other. Alone, of course. I had certain characters in mind when it came to the toy bins (like a certain white dog and a plastic letter P) who other kids just wouldn't know like I did. I mean, if Stacy tried to join in my game of letters, how would she know that the letter P was an obnoxious busybody who liked to interrupt everyone's fun when the other letters got together? She'd probably try to make P nice or something. 

Little did I know that, while I played with the doll puppet whose hair looked like spaghetti, teachers were noticing. "It does look like spaghetti, doesn't it?" Ms. Aspen asked. I hated people commenting on my ridiculous-sounding thoughts and decided to be more private about them. 

Upon graduation, I was presented with a diploma, but the thought that I wouldn't be there forever didn't cross my mind. I had all the time in the world, as far as I was concerned! Before life starts to speed by, it goes slow, starting at a snail's pace. I wasn't worried about ending preschool. That was years and years away, if we go by adult time-passing standards.

***

Come September, I ended up at a small K-8 school half an hour away from home. It wasn't an "elementary" school or a "primary" school. It was a "Friends school." What did that mean? Did it mean that everyone was encouraged to be friends? It was for kids in preschool through eighth grade, though I started in kindergarten.

My first day there was for orientation, in what was to be my kindergarten room. A taller African American boy went up to me near the snack table and said, "Hello." I promptly turned around, pretending I didn't hear them. I'm pretty sure my parents did that half-laugh thing that parents do when their kid does something awkward and then said that I should say hello back. I didn't listen. I don't think I ever saw the kid again---perhaps I ruined his experience! 

I mostly remember the good times, but physical evidence exists for the bad---including walking into the classroom, which was just as scary as it was in preschool, where I often stood outside the classroom waiting for a teacher to notice me at the start of the day. At the time of this writing, I just discovered an old note I received from the head of the lower school back in May of 2000, congratulating me on being able to walk in the building all by myself at drop-off. You know, that super challenging task! For most of that year, the head of the upper school walked me to my classroom each morning. Or so I've been told. She would eventually become my math teacher and academic advisor in middle school. 

However, it wasn't all scary. Here is how to survive in Quaker school, whether or not you're trying.

CONQUER CLASSROOMS

Kindergarten marked the start of what would become "real" school. Of course, the biggest part of this career would be going into the "grades," but kindergarten was an all-important first step.