Geniuses at Work
My Real Memoir
How Mom taught me to express myself: Until you start school, your life revolves around your parents. They can do nothing wrong. Only later, in your teens, do you discover they can’t actually do anything right, and that your sagely friends and major pop stars have all the real answers. But until then, it’s your parents who teach you what matters most in life.
Mommandad were my best friends, along with a little side-coaching from Weird Eddie, Babysitter Frieda, and Crazy Old Alice. But Dad went off to save the world every day. So it was Mom who showed me what mattered most. And for her (apart from family) it was stories–books and movies–and self-expression–crafts and decorating. It was the Age of the Housewife, so housekeeping was her day-job, but stories and self-expression were the real her.
So that’s what they were for me.
I Was Finally Going to School!
Which was neato. But what was even neato-er was that I got to cross the street all by myself! I still remember the delicious terror of crossing for the first time. I’d been warned that if I attempted to cross alone, cars—hundreds of them—would suddenly swoop down upon me and kill me over and over again. Yet here I was, crossing the street and not being killed even once!
But there was one thing I was even prouder of: my new Artist’s Smock! Mom had learned at Open House that we would be doing Art in kindergarten, and would need smocks. So she did what any mother of an Only-Child-Who-Happens-to-be-a-Genius would do. She spent two weeks stitching my personal “Authentic Parisian Artist’s Smock” to perfection. Then she finished her masterpiece with a custom monogram just like the ones the penniless impressionists in Paris wore.
The First Day of Kindergarten…
…was excruciatingly slow. I blew bubbles in my milk and tapped my toes through nap time, until Art finally arrived. But then Miss Shirley spoke the fateful words, “Alright, children, go to the closet and grab the first smock you see.”
By the time I got there, my smock had been snatched by a little cretin named Davey, who wouldn’t know a real artist’s smock from a dress shirt! Which was, in fact, what all of the other smocks in the closet were—kid’s dad’s dress shirts. Mine was the only Authentic Parisian Artist’s Smock. So I went straight to Miss Shirley, and pointed out her hideous error.
“We all need to learn to share,” she replied.
“Share?” I was an Only. Onlies don’t “share!”
Mom Was Heartbroken
She called the teacher and begged her to reconsider: “I made that smock just for him. It has his monogram on it!”
No exception was made. And I was irrevocably scarred, becoming at last the shattered shell of a man you see before you today.
OK, so I got over it.
But I still treasure storytelling and self-expression…
Thanks to Mom.
I worried (a little) about raising an only. I guess he survived. My next book (The Immigrant and the Outlaw: A Collection of Stories from America’s Heartland, due out next month) is dedicated to him because one of the chapters is called Raising a Son. Those four stories were written about the time he was in college. (He’s 51.)
And the epic saga continues❣
LOL
Ah, I can identify with this, Mitch, love it. Thanks for sharing. My first years with my mum were the best, but then that first day at school and teachers… mmmm?
;>)
“Ok… so I got OVER it” – should be book title… or on a T-Shirt
;>)
Aww… Your mom should’ve gone to the principal on that one! I’m an only, too, and the kind that would’ve been quietly devastated instead of stealing it back asap, lol! I hope you got to use it, too.
Yeah, I think I tried pretty hard to get to the smock closet first after that.
Well, shoot… Now WE have to get over it! 😉
;>)
Your very first lesson in socialism.
How absolutely devastating for a child.
The school should have made it clear the smocks were basically donations for general use, and not for their own kids. I feel your mother’s pain, too.
🧡
I relate!
I’m in your corner, Mitch. Once, I was on a field trip with a bunch of city kids during a summer program when I was about nine. It was hot and sticky. We were allowed to buy a treat before boarding for the return trip. I bought a cherry snow cone. A big, strapping girl sat next to me and gobbled down her treat and asked me to share mine. I didn’t want to, but I did. She ate the entire top off of it and tried to hand me back the paper sleeve. I told her to keep it. I’ve never forgotten that. 🙁
! Sadly, she may have paid for that approach with a lifetime of overeating issues.
Your mom sounds a lot like me. Our biggest mistake was trying too hard. :/
Maybe so, Annie. I wasn’t just an only child, I was the only one (Momandad had been told) she’d be able to have. So, I suppose that made every Mom experience a one-time-only opportunity.
Thanks for the reminder of my mom, Mitch. She was a great encourager
Best wishes on your journey. “Your epic”??
;>) It is a bit of an epic, Craig.
Like an Odyssey??
That’s just not right, you should have at least been able to wear it the first day.
I never expected this ending…😂😂😂
Oh boy, you are funny! Neato-er ! lololol !
Why, thank you, Wenda!
Smock shock is a serous matter.
;>)
Heartfelt and you made me laugh, again. A fun ending.
Did you ever get the smock back? After all, it was the only edition 😁
I honestly don’t recall, Iba. Maybe?
Davey took a huge risk that day.
I know a story of a rejected artist whose heart was broken in an art studio…
Another good story, I enjoy reading your blog every night. Pity about the smock 😊
I’m delighted to hear that, Fiona.
Love your humor! I used to write in mirror reverse. My kindergarten teacher called me to her desk and asked me if i wanted her to call me ytsirhC. It was VERY hard for me to figure out what I was doing wrong! But now I understand, the workbooks had an edge and a gutter. I thought it was like tattooing or rubber-stamping, where if you pressed the pages together, everything would match up. But to this day, I can spell backwards very quickly – and I was a Spelling Bee winner, too. 🙂
I just took the rest of the world a while to catch up with you, Christina!
Such a fun and vivid read, Mitch! Reminded me of the time I took off across the street to join someone (can’t remember who now). I must have been around 5 years old. I got the shock of my life when a city bus screeched to a stop, as I stood frozen in the middle of the street, gawking at the bus driver’s eyeballs, realizing he could have hit me and I’d become squashed!
I also love how you captured that shift from seeing your parents as everything to forming your own voice.
Thank you, Mary!
You learned a bit of resilience that day–also resourcefulness (racing to the smock closet from then on). I still hope you got to wear your smock more often than not!
What can we do without our wonderful moms?
The scene where you were crossing the street for the first time reminded me of how little things today mattered so much to our young minds some years ago.
I love this evocative piece❤️
Thank you, Benjamin❣
You’re welcome 🙏
I love your story
Delighted to hear that, Liz.
What a wonderful story!
Why, thank you, Andi!
kindergarten would have been dead to me from that day forward (or at least for the first day and a half). <3
mitch are you uploading your handwriting