“Grandpa, come on, start already,” my granddaughter interrupted my nostalgia. Who could resist her?
So, I began to read. The children, tucked in like logs in their sleeping bags, strained their ears in eager anticipation of what was to come. However, I was certain that they wouldn't be able to resist my soothing voice, and in a few moments, only the young teacher would be listening to me.
I was sitting in the kindergarten, reading to the children before their afternoon nap. I smiled to myself. I had disliked kindergarten since a very early age, and I feared other people's children like the plague. How does it actually happen? How does a cheerful little human being, running freely and happily around currant bushes in a green garden, turn into a frightened, timid boy?
If I remember correctly, I didn't even like the nursery, where I spent a few weeks before starting kindergarten. I don't remember exactly how long. I suppose they didn't tie me up, beat me, or yell at me there; I just remember that I cried constantly. And that was only the beginning. After three years since my birth and living in the countryside, in a warm environment at my grandmother's place, I suddenly stopped liking other children. Following my "banishment" from the paradise - that is, the currant garden - and after being rescued from the nursery, I found myself in the cruel world of strange little creatures with the arrival of September.
I didn't understand it from day one. I tried to stay under the radar and fit in. But why did they notice me? Why did they push me around? Why did they need the exact toy I was playing with? And right at the moment I took it, even though nobody had paid attention to it before. Nobody defended me, nobody stood up for me, and when the teacher came, she even scolded me for not knowing how to share. It is one of those core, primal memories that burns into your mind and shapes your socialization for a long time to come.
Fortunately, I had the period before that. A time of absolute happiness and freedom.
Much later, a psychologist told me that perhaps thanks to that, I am "more or less normal." "More or less" - how amusing. I am grateful for that time. Though it is hazy, and I only know it from photographs, stories, and vague feelings, it still forms the solid foundation of my personality. I am grateful for that fleeting joy, the freedom to explore, and the safe boundaries set by a strict but loving grandmother. It was a life spent in a forgotten village surrounded by mountains and castle ruins -the back of beyond - where no cars drove, and my greatest enemies were the geese and our backyard rooster.
After a brief episode in the nursery and kindergarten, my mother stayed on maternity leave with my sister, so I could stay home with her. It was a bit of a relief, but the free countryside turned into a city and a concrete apartment block full of orders and prohibitions without explanation. Today, I idealize that village; surely not everything was rosy there, but that’s how I perceived it as a child.
But the worst of the kindergarten days was yet to come. A year before starting school, I had to enter the preschool class, which was a preparation for the first grade of elementary school. And it continued exactly where it had left off. With the difference that against me, as a newcomer, there were already organized, well-coordinated groups that had been practicing together for a year. A classroom of thirty children, screaming - mostly from the teachers, but from the kids too. I didn't know what to do, so I started defending myself physically.
I fought back against unwanted pestering, having toys snatched from my hands, and being shoved around. To this day, I remember that as a punishment, I had to stay behind in the nap room while the other children played. Back then, I didn't see it as a punishment, but as a relief. I had peace, I was alone. I learned to avoid the crowd, and I was happy. Today, I look at it differently.
How would I handle those situations if I had my current knowledge and insight back then? I probably can't solve or change that now, but I can influence how I handle things today.
“But let’s go now, so we don’t wake them up again.” The now-familiar whisper snapped me out of my memories.
The story is originally written in the Slovak language as a companion story to "The Glasses". English and Czech translations are generated by AI. The picture is from author's archive, colored by AI. This story is fictional and any resemblance to real characters or events is purely coincidental.
