As a toddler, the idea of school fascinated and excited me. My mother chose to step away from her banking career for a few years to care for me and to teach me educational lessons at home rather than enroll me into a preschool.
Kids TV series served as secondary instructors. “Blue’s Clues” developed my critical-thinking and deductive-reasoning skills while “Little Bear” increased my emotional intelligence. I recall watching the show “Franklin” at 4 years old, where I saw the titular anthropomorphic turtle climb into a yellow school bus and see a host of friends.
Every afternoon, I welcomed my older sister home after she hopped off the school bus, and I knew I wanted my turn to attend school. I asked my parents, “When do I get to go to school?”
“When you’re 5,” they misguidedly answered.
See, the new academic year in Mississippi begins each August. However, my birthday is in April. I was flabbergasted when my fifth birthday rolled around and I was not allowed to join my sister in riding the bus. I recall raising a fuss in the grocery aisle of Wal-Mart when my mother told me I had to wait another three months and change. “But you said when I turned 5, I could go to school. I’m 5!”
My tantrum was temporary, of course, as my mother gave me “the look,” and I returned to quietly eying the shelves around me.
On his first day of kindergarten, Deputy Editor Nate Schumann excitedly woke up at 5:30 a.m. to stand outside and wait for the school bus. Photo courtesy Amy Schumann
Oh, but you better believe when that first day came, I eagerly stood by our bus stop at the crack of dawn. My house was the first home on the bus’ route, so I had a chance to marvel at how large the bus felt on the inside with all its empty seats.
That afternoon, instead of getting to ride the bus home, my mother picked me up. As an adult, I understand why she would be excited to see her young son
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