Our youngest grandson started school yesterday. He was as excited as a coiled spring; keyed up for weeks, egged on by his much older six-and-a-half-year-old brother. I spoke to the debutante on the phone last night and he was tumbling over himself, telling me about drawing a huge lion, and the teacher telling the class about dinosaurs. He mentioned his surprise of not having Olivia, Trent and Becky in the class. They were not even at the school!
My mind started to spin back to my own introduction to primary school, entry into the ‘Bubs at the Rosebud Primary. I have vivid memories, the large sandpit, the shaded playground and my dawning realisation over the first couple of days that I was not going to use plasticine in class. With absolute clarity, I recall my disappointment, and my belief that the squishy balls were just delayed, they would be offered tomorrow, or the next day, surely.
That was 70 years ago. I sit on the couch as emotions swirl, I realise that my disappointment, all those years ago is still within, remembered as a visceral milestone of that transition. I wonder what a ‘shrink might make of this!
At kinder the individual, coloured sticks had long ago melded into a uniformly dark grey splodge, but nobody seemed to mind. I kept up a lively chatter as I rolled, cut, pressed and constructed, sometimes with John and Jane helping, other times, just by myself. The adventures on offer were fabulous: Mum was told that I was sometimes even reluctant to leave the tables for morning cake and juice.
Kinder ended with the arrival of hot sunny days, daily trips down to the nearby beach, occasional ice cream treats, my elder brother and sister supervising my sandcastle constructions, sometimes joining in. That summer went on forever.
There was mention of going to the big school ‘Next Year’, but the import of that milestone was mostly buried by the sandcastles, and the delicately placed shell and seaweed ornamentation. Mum and I went to town on the bus and I was kitted out with Clarkes’ shoes, a couple of pairs of shorts, new shirts and socks. We lunched at the Coles cafeteria and I remember ice cream with strawberry topping. That cafeteria – such a highlight!
But the big day arrived. I was at school. We had a story and we were each asked to talk about our holiday activities. There was drawing, we even had an early afternoon nap, but there was no plasticine? I asked the other kids. They didn’t know. I asked my big brother – he told me they didn’t do it in the big school.
I never forgot the plasticine, and despite frequent consideration, was never able to adequately explain that lingering memory. It just remains as a little bump, an insignificant ‘significance’.
Memories exist, but I have managed to avoid potential plasticine-linked trauma, albeit with the memory of plasticine still occasionally surfacing!