Kindergarten at St. Margaret's. I don't remember how I got there or home. We didn't have a
car until we moved to Winona, so perhaps I walked with Barbara, or went home with Grandma
Santa.
I remember one day, Miss Alice, the Kindergarten teacher, asked me to go upstairs and ask
my Aunt Barbara to come down and help with something or other. I was to tell Barbara and
wait until she told her teacher and then return with Barb.
I suppose Miss Alice assumed I knew my way around because I had "connections." How wrong
she was. The only operative word in her instructions was "upstairs." So I nodded and took off.
The Kindergarten room was in the basement, so I headed for the steps. On the first floor, I
just stood there and looked down the long hall. The floor was polished to a beautiful shine
and all the doors with frosted, textured glass, were closed. What to do. What to do. After
waiting there a few moments, I knocked on the first door. A tall, slender nun opened the door
and waited for me to speak. I waited for her to speak. Finally, she said, "Well?" I answered,
"Is Barbara Simeone in this room?" She told me that this floor was for grades one through
four and Barbara was on the upper floor. (I guess Barb was know to all the teachers because
of Grandma Santa.)Sister pointed to the steps going up. I ran up the
steps to the second floor and knocked at the first door I came to. I repeated the message to
this nun who shook her head and pointed down the hall. "Sixth Grade," is all she said. As she
closed the door I could tell she was not happy by the interruption.
Of course, trying to deal with all this added tension, had brought tears to my eyes. I walked down the hall, eyeing each name plate on the doors through my tears. It came down to two doors with Sixth Grade printed on them. It took me a few moments to decide which one to knock on. I knew whichever one I knocked on, it would probably be the wrong one. Should I knock on both doors at one time? What if I left the building and went home? Would anybody know, or care? Then I remembered I didn't know how to walk home by myself. More crying. I finally decided to knock on the one right in front of me instead of the one a few feet from me. When the nun in this room opened the door, she could see this pitiful looking five-year-old with tears streaming down her pudgy face. She bent down, gave me a hug and said, "Barbara,
your niece is here for you." I guess I did have connections. At least this nun knew me.
Barb came out and said, "What a baby. Why are you crying?" I tried to talk, but I was taking
in more air than I could exhale. "Wait a minute. Here's your problem. Your shoes are on
the wrong feet. How did you walk all day like this?" We sat down on one of steps and she
changed my shoes around. She thought I was crying because my shoes were hurting me. I
didn't bother to tell her that I didn't even know my shoes were on the wrong feet and I was
crying because I had such a hard time finding her.
While she was changing and buckling my shoes, I told her, "Miss Alice wants you to help
her do something." Barbara said she was glad to get out of her class and go down to help
Miss Alice. I was glad I didn't have to go in search of anybody else. And even though I didn't
know my shoes were on wrong, my feet did feel different, and better, than when I went up
those awful steps.
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