One Little Kid Sitting on the Wall:)

The only photo I have of me as a kid, aged 4.  All the others are lost:(

When I was five I went to school for the first time. Epuni school, Lower Hutt, New Zealand.  Like most kids back then I was quiet and courteous to the other kids in the class.  We all got along well, we were like little adults.  A favorite time there in the classroom with all the other kids was singing time.  We would all sit on the floor and sing songs with the teacher or sometimes another lady would come in with a guitar and we would listen to her sing or sing along.  Young ladies wore short skirts in those days and I can remember her balancing the guitar on one leg and tapping her foot to the beat of the music which made her thigh jiggle.  When you looked in the direction of her playing and singing it was hard for a little kid, low as we were, not to notice this jiggly white thigh.

A more interactive song we sang was when all the kids who wanted to, sat on the edge of a long table. As the song progressed we each in turn fell off the end. It went something like..."ten little kids sitting on a wall, ten little boys sitting on a wall and if one little kid, should accidentally fall....there’ll be nine little kids, sitting on the wall." And down the line it would go until all the kids were gone.  The first time the teacher called volunteers up to sit on the table, a few kids, mostly boys, made for the table. The boys in particular vied for the front of the line wanting to be the first kid. Being in a bad position and not wanting to create a fuss, I found myself at the end of the line.  Well, I came to find out that that was the best position!  As all the kids dropped off it finally came down to where I was the only one left, all eyes were on me.  When it came my time to fall off the girls giggled and everyone laughed as I fell. Thus my entertainment career began. For two more times I made sure I was the last kid.  As I got to the end of the table to fall off, I got better at hamming it up. I would tilt my head and put on a funny face and fling my hands in the air as I fell.  Sure enough I got more of those giggles and even louder laughs from everyone.

The fourth time they called people up for the wall, I did my usual delay tactics so everyone was in positions before I took the end.  But as I sat on the end the kid next to me, Martin, who was second to last, turned to me and said, "I want to be the last". Not wanting to make an issue or let on the last was any better than any other position, I let him take the end.  As the line got shorter I can remember thinking second to last isn’t so bad, it’s almost last.  I should still get some attention.  But when I went off I didn’t get too many laughs at all. Even though he didn’t ham it up near as well as me, Martin got all the laughs and the giggles!

By then it was too late, the other boys had figured it out.  There was a general vying for the last position. I stayed out of it and just took my position somewhere in the line. There was so much jockeying for the last position that the teacher had to step in.  One boy made such a fuss he was removed from the wall altogether, I forgot which boy it was, think it was Martin.

After that the little kids sitting on the wall song was never the same and I even sat out the wall altogether.  But my memory of hamming it up and all the giggles and laughs stayed with me, waiting for another time when all eyes would once again be on...me.

I also discovered at this time that I had a talent for art. Once the teacher gave us an assignment to write a one page story and then, when the story had been approved, to illustrate it on the next full page.  This was out of the question for me owing to my dyslexia,  I could not write even a sentence let alone a whole page.  But as I looked around, all the other kids were busy writing their page.  Not knowing what to do, I decided to look busy by doing the drawing first.  To this day I can still remember doing the drawing.  It was a tree, a big tree that filled the page.  It was done with colored pencils and filled in with a sort of crude hatching and expressive, squiggles I made up on the spot. A bit messing looking, but with some thought and reasoning behind it. As the kids finished their stories and lined up to have it approved by the teacher, I got in line with my drawing. As the line was long it took a little while to get to the sitting teacher. The kid behind me said, “You’re not allowed to do that, you’re supposed to do the story first."  The girl in front defended me so I said to the kid behind something like, "Well I’m doing the drawing first", and turned back. When I got to the teacher she took my book and looked down with an expression of astonishment. Her eyes where full and wide. She jumped up and went over to the other teacher. Then she came back, no expression, initialed it for approval and handed it back to me. That was all she did. Her first look said everything and that she didn’t even ask for the story made my day. 

I looked at my drawing with delight.  The drawing that saved me from writing a story I was incapable of writing. Soon it was recess and all the kids left.  I stayed at my desk and kept looking at the drawing. My brother was near the door and I brought him in to show him my drawing, I was so proud of it. 

I remember one other time when we all sat on this long table, kids on both sides.  We were supposed to draw whatever we wanted.  I drew a fire engine in profile. I was half way through it when three teachers came it. My teacher grabbed my paper and showed it to the other teachers.  They whispered something together and put it back in front of me.

In later years, my teachers were not as admiring and more disdainful that I couldn’t read or spell nearly as well as the other kids. But I always remembered that teacher who appreciated my work, that first year of school, letting me know I had something special in me even if I couldn’t write like the others.  God bless that teacher.