The Miseducation of Jeb: Kindergarten
August 19, 2001
(With apologies to Laryn Hill)
Even before I’d begun attending kindergarten I was ecstatic about the prospects it posed. All I knew was that it involved a lot of fun and interaction with other kids my age. Given that I spent most of my hours only hanging around my parents and a slightly psychotic cat which had been plotting my downfall for some time (Flash was eventually put down after pouncing on my face in jealousy of the attention I received); I was understandably eager.
Reading, I was told by my mum, would also feature on the schedule of activities at kinder. This excited me no end, as I’d become quite proficient at reading, thanks to my parents. The Grug series of books had become a staple of my daily reading and my bookshelf was beginning to bulge with softcover titles, whilst others my age were still struggling with mere puffy plastic bath-safe copies of Miffy the Rabbit.
After growing frustrated with my early bedtime (although Saturday nights I was permitted to stay up later - Young Talent Time was on TV, after all), I took to smuggling a torch under my bed for the purpose of after-hours reading. The prospect of being caught terrified me, which now seems quite laughable. You try and find a child who’s horrified at the thought of being caught educating themselves against their parents’ wishes.
Of course, in the eerie environment of a torch-lit bedsheet underside; Grug began to take on strange new forms. I was worrying that he’d begun staring at me in a strange way at night, and his eyes seemed to move regardless of which angle I was looking at him. An terrifying epiphany of sorts occurred when I realised I couldn’t even classify what Grug was, and put an end to my parents’ purchases of his books.
My first day of kindergarten was fantastic. We had two very fun teachers - Mr Simpson and Mrs Sweeney. Mrs Sweeney lead us in nursery rhyme choruses with a rasping smoker’s voice. She would struggle to complete a verse without gasping for air, then punctuate a verse’s end by hacking violently, scaring us all. Mr Simpson was a more quiet man, who was always dressed in pastel and looked ready to burst into ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ by Rick Astley at the drop of a hat.
At first kindergarten seemed like nothing more than a largely interactive version of Play School. There were new songs to learn and activities to try - one of my favourite songs was ‘Leo the Lion’ which involved everyone crawling around on the floor whilst they sang the song. The problem was that I would always try to stand up in the centre of the circling kids, roaring loudly with my hands over my head, as if I was the dominant lion of the tribe. Some patient explanation was required on the teachers’ part.
I soon became good friends with a girl named Renee. I would spend most of my time playing games with her, which all seemed to revolve around eating leaves and bits of plants from the kindergarten’s outdoors play area. After eating a batch of rather strong eucalyptus leaves in a game that involved us pretending to be koalas, we were given stern instructions not to eat any flora.
Renee and I were largely disinterested in the array of playtime activities presented to us by the kindergarten. There’s only so long that a small playground set remains of interest to a four year old, and I was rather suspicious of the carpentry activities. It all seemed rather dangerous to me.
During the hot summer days, a water playset was produced from the storeroom. A complex set of colourful water tubes, spinning water-windmills and little boats to ride around the delta of rivers we’d connected together; this was by far the most-requested item on the kindergarten activity list. The unfortunate offset was that the hydronically excited children became rather lax in the bladder department, and messy assisted toilet trips were required.
It usually proved too difficult to even obtain a look-see into the water playset, so Renee and I were often off playing other games which involved the terrorising of other children or cheerful consumption of plant life.
Painting was a popular indoors activity. During a particularly fertile season of measles, I began recording the number of children forbidden from attending kindergarten due to the disease. Every day I’d continually illustrate with the paints, the large number of spotty children absent from kindergarten. Several other children became enthralled with the activity and we were soon collaborating on a measles mural, until a concerned Mr Simpson put an end to the paintings.
Kindergarten also marked the event of my first misperscribed pair of glasses. As it turned out, I had no need for glasses of any sort; but the crackpot eye doctor I’d been seeing with my mum dictated that he could resurrect sight from my completely blind right eye with the mysterious power of a strong lens.
Although the subject of ridicule initially, the glasses soon became a popular item at kindergarten when we realised that it was possible to decorate them with stickers and paint. I recall hearing my mother say ‘fuck’ for the first time when I proudly showed her what I’d created that day at kindergarten. Her anger mystified me, as it was surely far better than any boring old egg-carton shambles.
Later, I decided that I quite liked the glasses, and wanted to keep them. To ensure my spectacled adventures would continue, I was most careful with my answers upon returning to the crackpot eye doctor for a check up.
‘Look into the distance,’ he would mutter. ‘What colour is that square on the wall?’
‘Purple,’ I’d respond, knowing full well it was actually bright green.
‘Right,’ he’d note down. ‘And the triangle above it?’
I pretended to squint at the black shape. ‘Orange,’ I confirmed.
‘I see,’ the doctor continued. ‘And what can you see above the triangle?’
‘It says F - X - P - Q - W,’ I spelt out loud; although my mother and doctor could plainly see the word ‘Milk’ on the wall.
‘He may be colour-blind, this is a bit different than I initially suspected,’ my doctor thought out loud.
‘Was the square purple? Because now it’s pink,’ I attempted to casually note, hoping to cash in on the opportunity for more glasses as best I could.
The charade lasted well through my kindergarten year, until an unfortunate slip-up which forced me to admit everything. As it turns out, to this day I actually am slightly colour-blind - Adam and I have had many arguments over the colours of clothing (’It’s brown!’ ‘Fuck you, it’s green!’), but my glasses strangely ensured I remained one of the more popular members of the kindergarten.
Until primary school, anyway.
