What I Learned in Kindergarten

by Donna Poole

If a calendar hung on the wall, it said the year was 1953, but I couldn’t read it. I couldn’t read until halfway through second grade, and I was only in kindergarten in 1953. I don’t recall the month; we moved partway through kindergarten, and it was my first day at Fall Creek School in Ithaca, New York. I can’t remember the date either, but I was about to learn some lessons I never forgot.

Whatever schoolwork we were doing seemed difficult to me, and it probably was, because even a few years later I still had trouble distinguishing between the letters m, n, q, d, b, and p. The number 2 looked like a letter to me. I remember feeling nervous that first day. When the teacher said it was snack time and gave everyone a little cardboard container of milk I was thrilled. She sat my milk down and said, “In this classroom we drink all of our milk, every drop.”

I spotted a dead fly floating in my milk and tried to show her. “But…”

“No excuses!” She sounded scary stern.

Blinking back tears, I carefully positioned my straw and drank every drop of that milk except for a tiny circle at the bottom where the dead fly lay with all its body parts still attached, or so I hoped.

After more exhausting schoolwork, it was playtime. I’d been looking all morning at the most wonderful playhouse I’d ever seen. It sat in the corner of the room, and when the teacher said to go play, I headed right for it.

Just as I was about to duck my head and enter the fairy tale mystery of what might be inside, a rough hand grabbed my shoulder and yanked me back.

“You can’t go in there.”

“Yeah!” Other childish voices chimed in. “You can’t come in here. You’re the new kid.”

I looked around. Where should I go? Would I get into trouble with the teacher if I went back to my desk?

Another voice said, “Yes, she can come in the playhouse. She’s my friend, and I say she can!”

“Okay, Maureen!” the children agreed.

A small hand took mine. I looked into the smiling face of a little girl with dark brown curls and bright blue eyes, Maureen O’Riley. I’d found a friend I’d done nothing to earn or deserve, but she was a true friend until we moved away after I finished fourth grade. I soon learned with Maureen as a friend, all the others were suddenly my friends too, but even at the young age of five, I knew enough to tell a real friend from a pretend one.

I told my new friend about having to drink the horrible milk and trying not to swallow fly legs or wings.

“That was silly,” Maureen said. “You should have told the teacher. She wouldn’t have made you drink the milk.”

I wish I could remember more about Maureen O’Riley. I know we always played together on the playground. I don’t remember any of our conversations, and I don’t think we ever went to each other’s homes outside of school. But Maureen was my first school friend, and I’ll never forget her.

We need friends. It’s a beautiful road we’re walking toward Home, fragrant with springtime flowers, joyful with the songs of birds, and lovely with rolling green hills. It’s a brutal path we’re walking toward Home, dangerous with blizzard winds, blinding snow, and frozen tears.

“When good friends walk beside us on the trails that we must keep, Our burdens seem less heavy, And the hills are not so steep. The weary miles pass swiftly, Taken in a joyous stride, And all the world seems brighter, When friends walk by our side.” –Author unknown

I think we sometimes limit the possibilities of friendship with artificial boundaries.

Friends can be family; some of my closest ones are. Friends can be old or young. When I was a young mother some of my friends were senior citizens. When I became a senior citizen, I had a friend who was a teenager.

David and Jonathan, I think theirs is one of the sweetest friendships in the Bible. They didn’t really have much in common when they became friends. David was a sheep farmer’s son; Jonathan was the son of King Saul. David was a teenager who played a harp; Jonathan was a much older military commander. Some Bible scholars say he was twenty or even thirty years older than David. So, what made them kindred spirits? Why did Jonathan love David “as he loved his own soul?” –I Samuel 20:17 Why did he care so much about David that he later on risked his own life to protect David against his father’s murderous plot?

Perhaps what drew the two men together, one a very young shepherd, the other a brave warrior, was courage and trust in God. When Jonathan met David, David, with incredible faith and courage, had just killed a giant who had terrified seasoned soldiers. Perhaps Jonathan felt an instant bond with David because he shared the same kind of faith and courage. Jonathan and the man who carried his armor showed amazing courage when they accepted a Philistine’s taunt to come up and fight. They fought, and the two of them decimated the outpost.

I imagine David and Jonathan felt a bit like this: “It’s a wonderful thing to come upon one who knows what you mean. It’s just like heaven.” –George MacDonald

“The typical expression of opening friendship would be something like, ‘What? You too? I thought I was the only one.’”—C.S. Lewis

“The best friendship is friendship to the soul.” –Matthew Henry

The best and last thing Jonathan did for David was to strengthen his hand in God.

I’ve been blessed with good friends during my long life, and I thank them for strengthening my faith. Several of them are in heaven, and I picture them as part of my welcome Home committee. There was, however, a time when I had no close friends. I remember sitting on the couch with John and describing my ideal friend and telling him how lonely I felt.

He agreed with me we both needed friends, held my hand, and prayed God would give us friends.

Then, problem solved, he said, “If you can’t find that kind of friend, be that kind of friend to someone else.” He kissed the top of my head and wandered off to do whatever it was he was doing at the time. I can’t remember now what it was, because it was almost a half century ago. God answered the prayer, and the friends he gave us back then are our friends still. We treasure them more the older we get.

A friend in her late eighties called yesterday to share some good news. “I told God about it already,” she said, “but I need God with skin on.”

I knew just what she meant. God didn’t make us to be solitary. We all need a Maureen O’Riley, someone to tell us we don’t have to drink milk with dead flies in it, someone to stick up for us against life’s bullies, and someone to be faithful. We all need a Jonathan, someone God uses to make the walk Home a little easier.  

And Maureen O’Riley, if by chance you’re reading this, don’t worry. I don’t drink milk with flies in it. I don’t drink it at all when I can help it! I still see legs and wings!

The end

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.

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