(Almost) everything I need to know I learned in kindergarten

From the basement of her home in LaGrange, Georgia, Mary Greene provided us with our gateway to the world

Mrs. Mary Greene’s kindergarten class. LaGrange, Georgia. 1962. I’m third from the right on the back row. (Photo courtesy of Kyle Hendricks Levin)

I don’t remember the color of the floor in Mrs. Mary Greene’s kindergarten, but I figure she never had to mop it.

The little boys in the class did that for her. I was one of them. We pretended to be hammerhead sharks, circling the room on our bellies in the basement of her home in LaGrange.

This week is Teacher Appreciation Week. Mrs Greene was my first teacher. There was no such thing as 4K, Head Start or Montessori back in those days. She was doting, sweet and kind – all the qualities you would expect of a preschool teacher of her generation.

She prepared us for a lifetime of learning and socialization. We were taught our colors, manners, how to count, tie our shoes and print our name. 

There were 13 hammerhead sharks in our class. She would not allow the girls to wallow on the ocean floor in their dresses.

Mrs. Greene was with me when I received my diploma. I’m pretty sure I was her favorite student.

I still have several photographs from the night of kindergarten graduation at the Callaway Auditorium on May 29, 1962. I looked dapper in my dark pants and gingham shirt. 

A small, white mortar board covered my crew cut. The tassel dangled over my right shoulder. I clutched my diploma in my hand as if to say, “Look out, world, here comes Eddie Grisamore.’’

You may remember Robert Fulgham’s 2004 best-seller, “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.’’ It was filled with wisdom, practical advice and various rules of engagement. 

Lead a balanced life. Play fair. Be aware of wonder. Clean up your own mess. Wash your hands.

There aren’t many revisions needed.

Mrs. Greene checked all the boxes and signed my report card, attaching  a star of approval. There were 17 requirements for graduation. Here is an update on how I am doing.

I know my full name, address and birthday. 

I have kept the same name, unlike Muhammed Ali and Bob Dylan. I like it, even if my first name, Jennings, sounds like an English butler. I can’t change my birth certificate, although it would be nice to slow the circles down. I have lived in 17 different places since kindergarten graduation. I’m staying put.

I recognize the eight primary colors.

Red, blue, green, yellow, orange, purple, black and brown. It can get confusing, though. Sherwin-Williams boasts more than 1,700 shades of paint. Crayola makes 120 standard crayon colors. (They’ve retired more than 500. Gone are colors like Starfish Lavender, School Bus Yellow and Washer Fluid Blue.)

 I recognize and can say the names of the days of the week.

I am particularly fond of Taco Tuesdays, Hump Days  and College Football Saturdays.

I can tie my shoe strings.

My father was convinced velcro was the end of children knowing how to tie their shoes. I can still tie my black dress shoes every morning. I just can’t always bend over to tie them.

I rest quietly. 

I need a remedial course in rest. It’s the cumulative effect of all those years of raising kids, owning dogs and having a brain that has no governor on the carburetor. I do find myself needing naps in my advancing age.

 I get along reasonably well with others. 

Although I refuse to be a grumpy old man, I have a low tolerance for lazy folks and suffer from occasional bouts of road rage. I count to ten a lot. 

I enjoy looking at books and listening to stories.

I love telling stories even more. Thank you for reading them.

Graduation day. Callaway Auditorium. LaGrange, Georgia. May 29, 1962. Mrs. Green is on the far left. I am on the back row, seventh kid from the right.