memoirs: first day of kindergarten

I've decided to start a reoccurring "memoirs" section in my blog. I've also decided to stop being a dirtbag and try to update this brilliant literary feat more often. That being said, let me start my memoirs with a story about my earliest school memory. Since I've been in school for more than 20 years, I pretty much know the deal now (god, that sounds horrific, but even though I'm not becoming "the right kind of doctor," (apparently according to Italian grandmas studying anything in the humanities is useless "shit") one day I'll have COMMA PhD after my name). On my first day of kindergarten, I'm pretty sure I felt as prepared then as I would visiting a kindergarten classroom today. Oh I was ready, I had been prepping for that day all my life. I blew through nursery school like it was for babies. Why wouldn't I rock kindergarten my first day?

All morning I listened in disgust as the other kids asked to "go potty." I was horrified that anyone there was immature enough to say "potty." Clearly, I was much more cultured than the other kids because I used the term "bathroom." Yeah, so what if it was a bigger word with more syllables--my vocabulary could totally handle that. I can't remember exactly what I thought, but it probably went something like this: "O...M...G...I cannot even believe these little shitheads use the word potty. How old are they? Do they even know how stupid they sound? Geeze, at lunch we'll probably have to talk about crayons or TV because no one here has probably ever heard ofVersace." Yeah, I think that sounds right...

So when I actually had to use the bathroom for the first time that day, I just got up and went. I saw no reason to interrupt class to ask permission to use the bathroom; I was obviously more mature than everyone else for being able to decide this on my own. I got into the bathroom and my early-onset germaphobia kicked in. I decided it would be very dangerous to use the toilet without lining it with toilet paper. For some reason, though, I didn't see the toilet paper, so I opted for paper towels. After a few minutes I had crafted a cushy paper layer perfect for both comfort and germ protection. I pulled down my pants and got ready to sit down when, all of the sudden, my teacher busted in (I guess the door locks are pointless in kindergarten). She started yelling "I didn't know where you went, and I got worried! You need to ask before you use the potty! And what are you doing with all these paper towels? You are going to clog the toilet if you flush those!!"

My great reaction? I started to cry. Apparently my super-maturity didn't prepare me for getting yelled at bare-assed with my pants at my ankles, all because I didn't want to say the word "potty" and was afraid of germy toilet seats. And that's what I remember from my very first day of school. Thank god I actually don't have to ask to go to the bathroom anymore, that I've learned the art of hovering, and that I reserve crying for more important issues (like every-other-week "why am I in graduate school?" crises)...