Random Memories: My First Day of First Grade

I started first grade rather late.

Not "late" in terms of age, but late because we had been traveling (my dad's job took us all over the world) and we didn't get back to Denmark where I grew up for me to start school until about three weeks after the school year had officially begun.

Although I had somewhat sporadically attended kindergarten, I really had little idea what real school was about. To be perfectly honest, I was also rather poorly socialized- at least around kids my own age- because of our travels. We'd move somewhere for a few months, then be home for a couple of months, then go somewhere else for six months, then home again. In general, there were very few children where we went, so I mostly learned-- and understood-- how to "relate" to adults.

I still remember the four story red brick building that housed my first school (pictured above, almost 50 years later). It was a fairly small school with only one class of approximately 30 first graders. 

The first grade home room was up half a flight of stairs and down the corridor to the right, just past the headmaster's office. I recall the corridor being rather dark because a couple of windows had been shuttered off-- they faced the back schoolyard and were prone to getting broken by flying tennis and soccer balls... even though these were only permitted on the lower playground.

Starting school three weeks after everyone else was not the greatest experience ever. I was a shy boy, and it felt like everyone in the room was staring at me. Ms. Stolberg-- the first grade teacher-- explained that I was joining the class late because we'd been overseas. Then I was asked to take a seat at the only remaining open desk, next to a rather large boy... whom-- I'd soon learn-- was the class bully.

All went fairly well for the first couple of periods. We did some reading which seemed very basic since I was already reading "teenage" books by age seven. 

However, I had a little trouble with writing. I knew the alphabet but had been taught penmanship by my mother... in a style that hadn't been used in Danish schools for some 25 years. I have a vague recollection of the teacher saying something about parents "not teaching their children when they don't know what they are doing."

We also did a little basic math during a later period, which I also found rather easy although the teacher told me that I wasn't doing the additions "properly." I didn't understand that, because my answers were clearly correct... how could they also be "wrong?" 

And then it was time for lunch...

During my first lunch at school, I got my initial lesson not only in just how cruel kids can be to each other, but in how poorly prepared I was to defend myself.

I was making my way from the first grade classroom to the outside courtyard to eat my sandwich with the other kids when I was cut of and stopped by three huge boys. Well, at least they felt huge, to me-- they were actually 5th graders, looking to have a little fun with a kid they'd obviously not seen before (here's me, in my 7-year old glory, from my first school photo).

"I need to see your walking card!" said one of them, a towering beanpole with a shock of blond curls.

I looked at him, not sure what to do.

"Well?" he insisted.

"I... I don't know what that is."

"You DON'T KNOW what a walking card is? That's not possible. You aren't even ALLOWED in school, without a walking card. Are you stupid, or something?" 

The three boys had more or less surrounded me. I wasn't sure what to do, but I was getting more than a little scared. I looked around for an adult, but saw none. 

"I... I... my mother must have forgotten to give it to me," I stammered.

All three boys laughed uproariously, as if I'd just told them the funniest thing, ever.

"Your MOTHER? What are you, some kind of baby?" 

The tall blond boy was still doing all the talking, but all three boys were laughing.

"I'll... bring it tomorrow!" I offered, by now close to tears.

"You'd BETTER," said another of the boys, "otherwise we'll have to tell the superintendent, and then the police will come and they'll put you in prison!"

The older boys backed away a bit. I stood there, rooted to the spot, not having even the slightest idea that none of it was real. Blond Curls told me to "get lost" (or something like it) and I ran for the door to the courtyard, in the process almost knocking over a couple of my classmates who'd been watching through the window.

I spent most of the lunch hour wondering how I was going to get back to the classroom without being stopped by the older boys again, hoping that my promise to bring the walking card "tomorrow" meant they wouldn't ask me for it again, today. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out what sort of story I could cook up for my parents to avoid having to come to school the next day.

As it turned out, they were nowhere to be seen when the bell rang. But I did notice I was getting some odd looks and giggles from some of my fellow 1st graders.

I don't remember much else of my first day of school, aside from the strong memory that I was almost sick with worry-- I can still feel it in my stomach to this day-- about what was going to happen to me. I was also upset with my mother for having sent me to school without a walking card.

When I finally summoned the courage to ask her about it that evening she looked very puzzled... and wouldn't let me go to my room till I shared the entire event with her. 

She told me not to worry about it, but didn't explain to me why. However, the following day-- and for many weeks after-- I didn't see those three fifth grade boys again.

However, I have never forgotten my first day of school.

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