It's the anticipation of something new that lends itself to the bucket full of emotions. Once embarking on a new adventure, emotions tend to become a little more steady. For most, that is.
We've entered into a new school year in the Polski household. It's been very interesting watching my two oldest as they anticipate the first day of school. Like most kids, there is particular interest in all the new friends they'll meet. And so, it's been fascinating to see their different personalities emerge as they eagerly await the meeting of these potential new friends.
I will never forget my first day of kindergarten. I had it all planned out the night before and knew exactly how I was going to make friends. I had mentally tucked away three stories that I was ready to pull out at a moments notice. I didn't know whether or not they would be necessary, but just in case, I had a plan.
My first story had to do with a candy necklace. Remember those? I had a candy necklace that had one little circle of candy left hanging lonely in the middle of the elastic. I figured I'd "hook" an innocent bystander by simply wearing the necklace. Asking me about the candy would be the logical next step, and the story behind the candy necklace would no doubt draw them right in. I would have the opportunity to explain that I ate the whole necklace by myself. And, if they would be my friend, I would let them have the last piece of candy. And just like that...I'd have a friend.
Just in case this wouldn't work, I had another plan. I stuck my favorite T-shirt in my backpack (a dress was necessary for this first day, of course). The T-shirt had a hot pink palm tree on the front, covered with florescent lights and bedazzles. Underneath the Palm tree was the word "Florida" strewn across in an ostentatious way. It was awesome. If I needed to pull it out, someone would surely ask me where I got it (not everyone entering kindergarten was ready to be there). This was an easy hook. I would then draw them in by explaining that I got to go to Florida that summer and my grandparents live right by Disney World. I would then tell them that if they wanted to be my friend, I would take them with me sometime. And just like that.... I'd have a friend.
Believe it or not, I used the previous two stories on the first day of school. I gave myself no chance to make a friend with the all too common "Hello, my name is Katie. Do you want to play?" and instead went right to the stories. I don't remember if the kids were impressed or not. I do, however, remember a young girl chomping down on the last piece of candy as it hung around my neck.
I kept the last story hidden away for almost the entire year. In fact, my kindergarten graduation was one week after I decided to pull it out. There was no doubt in my five year old mind that my use of the story was necessary at the time. You see, no one was playing with me at recess. All my friends went off in their little circles and I was left by myself on the playground. This would not do.
I had to answer questions about this story. When I told them I could fly, I thought it would be a cut and dry issue, but it was apparent that everyone standing in the circle doubted me. I remember questions like, "How did you learn?" and "How high can you go?" I then responded with one of the stupidest three word phrases that I had used in my entire five years: "I'll show you."
I walked with confidence over to the bouncy bridge on the playground. Five girls stood below me while the sixth climbed the stairs that at the time seemed miles high.
I told my friend to stand behind me and when I told her to push, she should push as hard as she could. I also told her that she would have the best view of the flight. I asked everyone if they were ready, and then I didn't disappoint and yelled, "push!" I, apparently, was amongst those who entered Kindergarten but wasn't ready to be there.
It really was terribly wrong that my friend's mother made her bring me a present and some ice cream after finding out my foot was broken in three places. Her mother didn't believer her when she explained the situation. Looking back, I'm not entirely sure I would have believed her either. Poor girl. I sat there with a heavy cast on my scrawny leg eating Baskin Robbins and looking through brand new Clifford books. What a friend.
I suppose I had them in kindergarten. Friends, that is.
I can't help but reminisce when I watch my kids go through the same anticipation. They ask the same kinds of questions that I used to ask: What will the other people be like? Will they like me? Who will be my friends?
Yesterday, I watched quietly as my daughter acquainted herself with her new third grade classroom. And I noticed something very interesting and really quite refreshing about her. She was quiet. She said very little, unless spoken to. And, remarkably, she had met two new kids in our short fifteen minute visit to her new classroom. Two kids that upon leaving she referred to as "her new friends." How does she do that?
And then there is my son. When putting him to bed the other night, he told us he had a "plan" (oddly and somewhat scarily familiar) for how he was going to make his friends. When my husband asked him about his plan, he explained the fine details very confidently: "I'll bring money to school and pay them all to be my friend. A quarter each."
Really? His plan is to buy some friends?
But then, really, is that any stranger than making friends with candy necklaces, Las Vegas style T-shirts, and stories about flying? I think not. Admittedly, these kinds of "plans" may not be all his own fault.
I went home from my first day of kindergarten with a saliva ridden elastic band around my neck. Here's to hoping my son's future friends don't go home with a pocket full of change.
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