Pre-School Resistance

The streets of the neighborhood were full of activity but you could also be isolated, if you wanted. There was enough going on that no one really cared what you were doing, or if you existed, with the possible exception of your loved ones, with whom you could check in a couple of times a day, to keep them satisfied, and get something to eat.

There was not much greenery around, but there was enough dirt to meet a kid's desire to dig and bury. When it rained, water ran through the gutters, and you could float sticks.

Streets and schoolyards were for games, and alleys for skulking, or sitting or walking alone.

When it came time for my first remove from this world - for kindergarten -I balked.

I knew a bit about kindergarten. P.S. 268, on the corner, ran a summer program every year, which introduced me to the building and activities.

Outside, in the schoolyard, was fine. There was stickball, sprinklers, and running around.

The cafeteria was good, too. Cartons of milk and juice, nok-hockey and other games.

But deep inside was different. Hallways were dim and echoey quiet. Doors were forbidding and heavy, with glass up too high. There were flags and mottoes on the walls. It smelled like glue.

Sneaking around, I got a load of the kindergarten space.

This laboratory of learning consisted primarily of cheap-looking toys (not real toys; educational toys), books (not real books; picture books), and musical instruments, or sort-of musical instruments, like triangles and tom-toms.

I saw pictures of past classes. They didn't look too smart. Well, the girls looked all right; but the boys wore these little ties, or had their shirts buttoned all the way to the top.

I thought, did they get that way here? Or come in like that?

Probably both. But I wasn't taking any chances.

I talked to my parents about not going.

I don't see the point, I said. I already know how to read; I'm ahead of schedule. You don't see anybody else who knows how to read hanging around kindergarteners. They're going to have me looking at snap-together cards with big letters on them.

They'll teach you other things there, my parents said.

They won't, I said. I've been asking around. There's no subjects, no lessons, no homework. You sing songs, clap hands, and take naps. I could be here reading and doing things.

But all the other kids will be there, my parents said.

Exactly, I said. I'll have the neighborhood to myself.

I don't know if their reaction was more exasperation or resignment. But they granted my request. I never went.

I don't know if it was legal. Probably not, because it made good sense for someone.