The Binstigator

I started Kindergarten at a very small Catholic school in 1987, a couple weeks shy of my fifth birthday.  My mom deeply regrets not waiting another year, and blames my social ineptitude on the fact that I went through school a year younger than my peers.  The two aren't at all related, but I could tell my mom that until I'm blue in the face and she still won't be convinced.  Besides, that means she technically blames herself, and it's sort of fun to watch her get squirmy.

Anyway, I have a handful of fairly vivid memories from Kindergarten.  There was this girl named Stephanie.  I didn't like her.  The only reason I didn't like her was because she scribbled, and I took (okay, take) my coloring pretty seriously.  Since we were stuck at the same table, it wasn't even something I could ignore, and it slowly took it's toll on whatever sanity a five year old has.  So, I did the next best thing and started a war with her.  Each table had three chairs, a red, a blue, and a yellow.  I liked the red one, she liked the yellow one, and Matt liked the blue one.  Cool.  Except, I was a bitch and made sure I was there before her everyday to take the yellow chair.  I also told the teacher she said "fuck" even though she didn't.  I may have been a bitch, but I wasn't a very good liar and I lost that battle.  I got in a lot of trouble for that.

Most of my other memories are pretty boring.  I learned that if you wore a dress on Friday, someone would flip up the skirt.  Oh, and that the red things on bushes are not for eating.  And that paste isn't for eating either, even though I remember it as rather tasty.  I remember getting in trouble for asking why we had to sit in a semi-circle every day.  I wasn't being a smart ass, I just thought that perhaps we should branch out into other shapes.  The suggestion was frowned upon.  I do have one Kindergarten memory that really stands out.  It's probably one of the first stepping stones to my life as an asshole.  I was the binstigator.

In the back left corner of the classroom, were rows and rows of cubbies.  Each cubby had a bin in it, and each bin housed a different child's school supplies and whatever little junk he or she had chosen to bring.  A couple months into school, I was bored.  I had the same feelings about boredom at five that I have at 28, so I decided to add a little spice to my school day.  I did this by finding a little time every day to rearrange other kids' bins.  I'd hide the crayons of someone from morning class in the bin of someone from afternoon class.  I'd put her princess stickers in his bin.  I'd trade this one's glue for that one's paste for the other one's glue sticks and other such douchery.  I never stole anything, just made it messy and confusing.  Then I'd bite back the giggles as the chaos unfolded around me. 

I was pretty smart about it, even messing with my own things so that the blame would not fall on me.  Every now and then, I'd have to lay low for a bit, while they tried to figure out who was behind this nonsense.  I was either good at being an asshole or lucky, because I didn't get caught. 

The year progressed and we had assessments.  I could count and spell my name and read simple words, so they decided to promote me to the first grade.  I couldn't help but feel a little sad about this.  I didn't like Kindergarten very much, but what would first grade hold?  Would there be little bins? Who wants to live in a world without little bins? 

On the first day of first grade, I begged my mom to let me go back to Kindergarten.  My mom, of course, just wrote this off as fear or nerves and forced me to move on.  Looking back, this was a great decision on her part.  I walked into that classroom, only to have my breath stolen from my chest.  There was a fully separate coat room, lined with big cubbies with shelves and a hook and a lunch box slot!  First grade and I would get along just fine.