My First Day of School

        I'm starting to really love writing this blog. It's making me nostalgic but in a sweet, happy way. There is so much I remember...so many silly details and memories that I never thought I'd actually need to recount. They've been stored in the basement of my brain and for this blog, I get to go down there, dust some of them off, bring them upstairs and share them. And I'm having fun doing it. 

    I remember what I wore on my first day of school. It was a pink poncho with white piping that my mother had knit. I loved that thing. The other thing I remember about that day, was that we were told to sit in alphabetical order according to last names. Imagine my happiness when my mother recently found the photographic evidence of my memories. There I am in my pink poncho, sitting next to Allon Batsrawe. B before C. Allon was about to develop a habit of chewing on his pencils so from this day forward, he would always have tiny pieces of yellow pencil wood on his lips. In fact, he probably has a yellow pencil in his mouth in this photo, but it's hard to tell because his hand is in the way.

    I remember the red clogs. Not sure why I paired them with black socks, but I suppose it's an indication of the early development of my individual style. I still don't like to look too girly and prefer pairing a sweet dress with chunky boots to the more obvious pretty sandals... 

    It was August of 1977, I was 6 years and 8 months old, and I remember being excited about finally starting school, since I had been in Kindergarten for two years, by accident. When I say "by accident" I mean, my mother dropped Ulrik off at Kindergarten one day and had an errand to run, so she asked if she could leave me there for just an hour. I guess she forgot about me, because it wasn't until she came back at the end of the day to pick Ulrik up, that she realized that she'd left me there for the whole day. The good news was, I had been so well behaved and delightful that they agreed to let me start a year early.  

    And so it was that I was more than ripe for first grade. The school I was starting was Hillel School, a Jewish private school in the middle of Stockholm. It was like any other school, except for there was a security guard and iron gates protecting it from the general Swedish population, who probably had no idea it was there, as not all Swedes are familiar with Jews and Judaism. There was kosher food served for lunch, and we learned about, and celebrated Jewish holidays. We started learning Hebrew in the first grade and English in the third grade. 

The photographer told Allon to lean into me or else he might not get in the photo :)

    My first grade teacher was Agneta Nilsson. She was only with us for one or two years, but I loved her. She had long, beautiful reddish blonde hair, (so not Jewish) and was kind but firm. One day she came to school with all her beautiful hair gone. It was cropped to about shoulder length and permed and on that day she wore a peasant style, burgundy velvet dress that tied in the back. We all noticed her new hairstyle and there was a fair amount of buzz in the classroom. Zarina raised her hand and when called upon, asked, "did you get a haircut?" Agneta patiently replied in the affirmative to this obvious question, to which Zarina countered with "I liked it better before."

    Some people laughed but Agneta wasn't amused. Instead she asked us all to settle down, and said she was going to explain something very important to us. It turned out to be one of those life lessons that has stuck with me since. I thought Agneta was impenetrable. That because she was a grown-up and a teacher, she couldn't have her feelings hurt. But that's exactly what had happened. And she told us that. I don't remember exactly what she said next, but it was something to the extent of "if you can't find something nice to say, don't say anything at all."

    I still believe in and live by that motto. It's not always easy. Since I'm quite expressive and outspoken, it's obvious when I don't have something nice to say...but I suppose it has forced me to look deeper and find the good stuff in everything and with everyone. And that's not a bad pastime.

 

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