I walk into the cafeteria of my elementary school. There are rectangular tables surrounded by wooden chairs of various shapes, sizes, and styles.
I wait there, singing, swinging my legs, and waiting to be told to line up.
It is December. I am wearing my coat. (It is the coat that saved my life once.)
We are told to line up and after we are single file, we walk back to the kindergarten area. I stay in line, my ability to control myself while walking, increasing.
We enter the room, which is large enough to hold three classes. Our area was to the right of the door.
There are cabinets lined up behind all the tables along the right wall of the kindergarten area.
Everyone has to put away their lunches and coats. Our coats are hung up on these metal silver coat hangers. One by one, we all put our things away in an orderly fashion.
We all sit down.
This normal morning routine probably lasts 30 minutes.
And that is too long for me.
I promptly stand up, walk back to the coat cabinet and proceed to take everyone’s coat out, one by one, and drop them on the floor.
“Kara,” my teacher calls in her nice, sweet, placating voice. “Why are you dropping the kid’s coats on the floor?”.
“I don’t know,” I say.
But, of course, I know why I did it. School and I did not get along. And the more people tried to help me, the worse it got. I have always known my own mind. And I work through my problems, usually, on my own. So, if you leave me alone, you will get farther in helping me feel better.
But, how in the world would my teacher know that? Poor lady…