Going Back to Kindergarten

I did some deep cleaning and sorting in the archeological dig that is my home, and ran into my report card from Kindergarten (1951-52) from my bucolic suburban New Jersey elementary school.  I had no idea that the document was in my house.  It was in pristine shape.  My dear departed mother must have saved it for me.

I opened it up, hoping to find clues about my mostly forgotten childhood and the little person I was at age 5.  I not only found the child beneath the woman, but also went on a cultural trip through post-war America.   (For us, that’s still World War II.)

Here’s what I found.

The report card was slyly named “Report of Progress.”   Actually, I don’t remember making any progress in kindergarten.  All I remember is sitting on my teacher’s lap, and having daily naps on the floor on a little ratty blanket that we each kept at school for that purpose.  I also remember the “cloak room.”  Do they still call it that?  Is my winter coat a “cloak”?  It was in 1952.

The “Progress of Report” contains a disclaimer.  It says that the students are not judged “in relation to others at his [sic] grade level, but merely indicates “your child’s achievement based on his [sic] individual capabilities and his own rate of speed in development.”   I guess the school (and educational system at the time) wanted to protect us against the ravages of competing in the real world.  That certainly turned out to be a losing battle!

Getting to the nitty gritty of “moi, moi, moi,” I had many checkmarks (which indicated satisfactory growth, but, as noted above, not objective achievement).  I also had a couple of slashes.  This is the sign that indicated the conceptual equivalent of the nasty buzz sound in the game shows when the contestant gave an incorrect answer.  These slashes indicated “a need for growth.” 

My demerits, no, my “needs from improvement” were in the two following areas:  “relaxes easily” and “uses self-control”.   Those who know me, may see the child in the man, I mean woman.   I was quite surprised that many of my adult deficits were not picked up in this “Report of Progress,” although they were listed in the Report and marked as having attained satisfactory growth.  Some of these were:  “follows directions”, “speaks distinctly”, and “expresses himself [sic] well”.  At least two qualities (which have helped me in my profession), “listens attentively” and “enjoys stories”  were noted positively at that early age.

In April 1952, my teacher, Miss Ina M. Legg, wrote in the “Teacher’s Comments”, inter alia, that “Laurie shows signs of improved adjustment to the group.”  (Lucky, now I’m self-employed, and people must adjust to me.)   In the space where your mother (aka “parent”) comments and signs, my mother was mute and just signed her name.  Maybe she was struck speechless by the wonderful report card she had received.  Or, more likely, she was busy handling a home with three young children, close in age, of which I was the youngest.  Anyway, her thoughts on receiving the missive are now lost to history.   At the end of the year, Miss Legg added that she hoped that I was “looking forward to First Grade with pleasure.”  I’m not sure if I shared those feelings, but it’s an interesting look into Ms. Legg’s mind.

There was a group photo in the envelope of the entire two kindergarten classes (47 little post-war souls).  I was surprised at how mature we all looked.  The boys wore striped and plaid shirts and suspenders.  The girls wore frilly dresses (yes, even me; perhaps  that’s why I looked so unhappy in the photo), or quasi dirndl skirts with white blouses.  (What side of the war were their parents on?)

They were different times, but somehow, we all made it through.  Have a wonderful holiday season, everyone.

Kindergarten, 1952, Maplewood, New Jersey