When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?
I remember my kindergarten teacher asking this question when I was five. She did not approve of my answer: a cat. She expected me to give the standard response, something I actually could be – nurse or teacher, perhaps. But I was just a child with a child’s imagination, and I loved cats. I still do.
It’s sad that I began my school years with a woman who did not understand small children. Her name was Mrs. Knowles. She was old and cold and stern.
I have a couple of other memories from that school year. Before school started, we moved from my mom’s home state of Indiana to my dad’s home state of Kansas. It’s strange that I do not remember this, but my brother says Mom left us. She left Dad with four or five kids ranging from one to nine years old. (I don’t know if Mom took the one-year old.) Dad did not know what to do. So he packed up his kids and drove to Kansas, and we moved in with my grandparents until he could find a home. Mom eventually rejoined the family.
I remember Mrs. Knowles asking if I wanted a carton of milk at snack time. I didn’t have any money, so I said no. I believe one carton cost a nickel. I came back to school the next day with milk money. She said, “I thought you didn’t like milk.”
I remember the class skipping around a circle. Mrs. Knowles told me that I didn’t skip correctly. I wasn’t lifting my knees high enough.
At five years old, I felt misunderstood. I gave the wrong answers. I didn’t even move right. I had much better teachers after Mrs. Knowles, but I continued to feel like a different species.
Innermost Being 