Way Back When I Was A Kid

Some people say, “tell me when you were in grade school, and I’ll tell you who you are”. Perhaps I believe that it is true. My hobbies, attitudes, and values are somehow attributed to the way how I was molded in my younger years. So, when in doubt, blame your upbringing when you were still a pupil.

As far as my memory is concern, my schooling started when my parents were too eager to send me to school. I was 4 years old back then when a pre-school teacher did not accept me because I was a year younger than the minimum age that they strictly accept. Not to disappoint their expectation to see me as a pupil, my parents immediately sent me to a kindergarten school inside the compound of a Roman Catholic Church. Finally, I was accepted.

Day 1 came. I feared. I felt that I wasn’t prepared to be mixed with many children in a room. Well, I only have a very few encounters of meeting same age children when I was still young. Neither had I remembered a visitor in the house with a child that I played with, nor I remembered playing joyously to a child anywhere else. So I don’t feel good upon sitting on the front row of that classroom. My mother was standing there outside the screen door. There were also mothers and or “yayas” of my classmates sitting behind us. Our teacher kept on talking and writing there on the blackboard. Things which I did not remember anymore except that writing activity to be done right after her lecture… Then I cried. My memory still recalls myself crying with a concern teacher right there in front. It was not because I don’t know how to write. Not because I’m afraid of the activity. Not because my seatmate bullied me. But it was because for two reasons. One, I don’t know how to open my bag to get my paper. Two, my mother was not anymore standing outside the door, she left me unexpectedly. So I cried. Minutes later, with my teacher helping me to figure out my problems, my mother came back and fetched me. I never came back to that school again. Never again even up to now. That was just Day 1 and that was the last, so we waited for next school year.

So I turned 5 years old. We revisit Pre-school and there I was accepted. My mother choosed me to enroll in the afternoon session which I don’t know why, but whatever the reason was, no regrets at all. I can still remember the first day I entered that room where my classmates were busy playing with the small blocks of different shapes and pieces of clay shaped into whatever figure we want. That was Day 1 in my Pre-school days and I think it left me enjoyed, so I loved schooling from that day on.

My mother, if not my brother kept me accompany in going to my classroom. So here’s my attitude again- I always want that whenever I glanced at the door or at the window, I can see the presence of my mother or whoever from the family. If not, then everyone can hear again my terrible cry. So my mother was left of no choice. During those days, my mother kept herself busy accepting thesis papers of college students. She was paid for making that “holy paper” and also paid for typing out all of those thick compilations. Computers for encoding were not so popular during that time so most of college students resort to typewriting which my mother also accepts. I remembered those days that whenever I glanced outside the door, I could see my mother sitting on a little chair with a typewriter in front of her placed on the cemented bench. School benches were put around the sturdy paper trees so the shade I think was enough to protect my mother from the afternoon’s heat of the sun. She was busy typing. I was busy listening to our teacher. Until that graduation came, not bad that I received a ribbon. I was hailed as the Most Attentive Student. That was cool. I realized that it feels better when there’s something to get when the school year ends.

Grade 1 Section Yellow. Row 1 and I was proud (our seating arrangement was based to the level of our intellects). I remembered when we from Row 1 taught our classmates from Row 4 to read some texts written in our workbook. I thought of myself as an achiever. I always want to answer in recitations or if not, I always want to figure out how others understand some lessons which I find a bit of difficulty. That time, I already have a notion that life is always a competition. Not to the extremes, though. I don’t want to disappoint my parents. I remembered one time that during the early days of my grade 1, I seated in Row 4. My only seatmate was so annoying. The two classmates I had in front were so noisy and the two classmates sitting in the desk behind me were playing my bag and it left me irritated. Our teacher caught our attention and in exchange, we were assigned to sweeping and scrubbing the floor right after the class. Then my brother who was in Grade 6 that time came to fetch me in going home. He waited me to finish the tasks and I feared that he might know why we were assigned to be sweepers. I feared that our teacher will tell him and of which my parents might know right after. I don’t want to disappoint them and that’s what I get rid of. Time flew. I received a medal for being the second honor in the class. That was just a very small achievement. What is a 2^nd honor medal of a Grade 1 student compared to an honorific scholarship received in college?

I don’t know if some children like me before and of today also thought the way how I wanted to see myself in the lens of my parents, my teacher, or to everyone. I still remember how I ran so fast in heading home for lunch on the day I knew that I was on the honor’s list. If only I can teleport that time, just in a second, I already got home and proudly showed my medal to my mother. The medal which was given to us days earlier than the recognition day still clangs on the wall of our living room. That was my first all-out happiness. That’s the image I saw in that tiny little thing. Today, it continues to clang on the wall together with some other medals I received. Whenever I looked at it, an air of happiness emanates from its glittering surface.