Strays of brown hair scattered around my face, bright blue, glazed eyes, rosy, chubby cheeks, I stood there, tears streaming down my face, with three crayola crayons in my stubby fingers, purple, gold, and red. The only thoughts in my head were the anxiety of breaking the rules, and if it was worth it; to restore the happiness once there.
It was around the first week of kindergarten, and I was already anxious enough about the new norms I had, and now was supposed to be accustomed to. Being a rather obnoxious and social child, I was always looking for ways to introduce myself and create friendships between my fellow classmates.
Though it was a number of years ago, I remember mumbling a quiet greeting to a big eyed, chocolate haired girl. She placed her hand on her hip, cocked her head to the side, her bangs swiftly following, and flashed me a gorgeous smile, her two pink lips spreading apart to reveal pearly white teeth.
“I’m Leah!” The girl chippered.
“Hey, I’m Emma!” I replied with the same, (if not more), happy tone ringing in my voice.
I knew we would be the best of friends from that very first conversation.
As school progressed, I began to meet new people and make awkward kindergartner small talk with others. But only two people stood above the others, my very own teacher, Ms. Olson, and that one chocolate haired girl, Leah Harman.
Ms. Olson had short, golden blonde hair and seemed to share that same effortless charisma that Leah also possessed. Although she was well into her early 40’s, no wrinkles seemed to be present, and I thought of her as the prime example of beauty.
It was there, everyday in my homeroom with Ms. Olson, that I developed my passion and determination to find the ability to write in everything I do. She taught my the core of the idea of language, the alphabet, and strategies to spell, and pronounce.
After growing this untainted impression of Ms. Olson, one could imagine my obedience and dedication to her. But of course, being only five years of age, my wisdom was lacking, and things such as “common sense” were nowhere near being understood.
Following an everyday lesson, Ms. Olson decided we would learn about the US flag and talk about the value and importance it has to many US citizens. When going over the composition of the American flag, and the colors made up of it, red, white, and blue, she continued to pass out cardboard packs of crayola crayons.
Leah was having a bad day and was talking to me about something along the lines of her breakfast not being what she wanted. I, trying to be the best of friends, wanted to do something to demolish the frown on her face and replace it with the brightest of smiles.
Knowing it was the wrong thing to do, I valued Leah’s happiness over the discipline I had demonstrated recently, and took three random colors, purple, gold, and red, and scribbled all over the blank outline of the US flag that Ms. Olson had just handed out.
Ms. Olson, staring horrified at my personal “masterpiece” I had just created, started to recite a string of harsh words that felt like pins stabbing every inch of my body. Following the lecture, (in front of the entire class), I could feel the aftermath of those pins and could feel a stinging, burning pain in the corner of my eyes. Rubbing away floods of hot water pouring from my eyes, I felt two arms wrap around my waist.
Leah whispered a kind, “thanks Em, I smiled”, and I knew that’s what mattered most.
So, over ten years ago, I discovered that sometimes mental health should be valued over education, even if you’re hurt in the end. Nowadays, I still practice that rule. If my anxiety is at the brink of a mental breakdown when taking notes, or writing an essay, its always best to step back, and do whatever it takes to plaster a smile on my face. Whether it’s eating a handful of chips, or hugging someone, or taking time to call a friend, its worth the time given up. And as a kindergartner, I find myself impressed by the bravery I displayed in an effort to make a friend happy, who I still consider my best friend to this very day.
