Precursor

My earliest memory is in pre-school. Some time in 1981. I am standing in the corner of my classroom, crying my eyes out. All the other kids are around me. They are not laughing or pointing or being mean—just there. I feel close to panic, such a deep, deep shame overtaking my being. I try to cover up. I fold my hands up into my armpits and squeeze my arms as tightly as I can. Still I can not cover up. Mom had sent me to school with overalls. Overalls!!!! With no shirt!!!!!!! NO SHIRT!!!!!!! I was naked, in front of everyone. Naked! Everyone could see me and I was naked. I don’t remember how that situation ended. Probably with me passing out or ripping my teacher’s blouse off to cover my shame. Looking back, I can see why my mom chose such and outfit. I was an adorable little kid. Adorable. Oppie Tailor had nothing on me. Well, until I get fat, but that’s later. I only have two more memories from that period of my life. One is of my parents and teachers trying to get me to see Santa Clause when he came to school. Screaming bloody terror! I never understood how people felt safe being with creatures who were all dressed up and in masks. Even today, if Santa ever came close to me, I would slaughter the bastard. The other (now write this down, you might have to use it) is about personal hygiene. My teacher bought into the whole cleanliness is next to godliness thing. We needed to report if we had brushed our teeth that morning or not. Well, come on! We were three. How were we supposed to remember what we did an hour ago? So, we would have to cup our hands over our mouths, exhale, and breath deep. If stinky, no sticker. Standing in a corner, my red hair bouncing from the sobs that rack my body as I try to cover my nakedness and smell my un-brushed breath—Santa waiting, just beyond the next corner.