Hmm? What else can I tell you about Kindergarten, besides that I barely passed nap time?
Does anyone remember those tunnels they had for little kids? It was like a giant slinky covered with cloth which you were expected to crawl through. Somebody, probably with a degree in early childhood development, decided that this was a good thing for five-year-olds to do. But I think that is what started me on the road to claustrophobia.
Or perhaps it was when my dad brought home this huge old safe. It had to be the size of an average oven. My sister Pat swore that it was so big (or I was so small) that I could fit inside of it. So naturally I had to crawl inside it. Which would have been ok, except that Pat said that it really didn’t count, we really didn’t know that I entirely fit inside of it, unless she shut the door.
Really? Can you say “STUPID”? It was an air-tight safe for heaven sakes! And Pat was my best friend. Wow, I was hard up for friends! So, naturally I said, “sure, close the door.”
OK, well I am here today, aren’t I? But perhaps that moment of oxygen-depravation explains a lot. That and the torment I endured that day.