These
are the continuing adventures of a Swedish immigrant during her first
year as an American. She boldly went where she'd never gone
before...please come along on Adventures
in America.
Eventually
our carefree summer ended and it was time to think about school. Of
course, I'd done plenty of thinking, worrying, planning, wondering,
worrying, speculating, worrying, dreading, and having nightmares
about and generally plain freaking out about it since we got there,
so I was, shall we say, ahead of the curve when it came to “time to
think about it”.
In
Sweden, kindergarten is optional, but I'd gone. I loved it. I'd
always loved school. First grade was in a very old building with a
very wonderful teacher, and we hiked up a hill to a school for older
kids and had lunch there, then hiked back. That was fun. Second
grade was in a brand new school they'd just built right in my
neighborhood. Another great teacher, and a cafeteria where everyone
ate everyday for free.
First
grade in Sweden is age 7, not 6 as in the US. However, I couldn't
just automagically go from 2nd
grade in Sweden to 3rd
grade in America, I had to take HOURS of placement tests, which no
one had warned me about, and frightened me to death. But I was
deemed worthy of 3rd
grade. Consequently, I was always a year older than my peers and
spent my life explaining about how they start school later in Sweden,
which, by the way, I highly applaud. At least these were done way
before school started.
My
first day of third grade I spent trying not to cry. Really, really
trying hard, because I knew if I started, I would never stop. It
would be moving, the neighborhood, missing my friends, missing Farmor
and Farfar (Father's mother, Father's father), not being sure of my
English, not knowing anyone, being afraid I was wearing the wrong
clothes, not knowing where to go, not knowing when lunch was, if I'd
be allowed to go get my lunch which was currently in my lap but who
knows where they'd make me put it, where was the bathroom, when would
I be allowed to use the bathroom, was there recess, what was I
supposed to DO? So I thought it best not to cry.
When
I arrived on my first day, and Mom had finished her Momarazzi duties
(those are the Camponellas, by the way), she LEFT me with the
principal, who took me to my room. “Here's your room!” Then she
left. Wow, OK. Some kids. Sitting at tables. I sat down at a
table. They all talked to each other. No one talked to me. I
stared at the ceiling counting tiles not to cry.
Eventually
the teacher came. Didn't speak to me. Gave general instructions to
the class in a machine gun fashion and everyone jumped into action,
stowing lunches, getting papers and pencils, pushing, shoving (AND
DID NOT GET SENT TO THE PRINCIPAL FOR IT) and making lots of noise as
they got ready for the first lesson, which was to write a paragraph
about ourselves, and then choose a partner, share paragraphs, and
then we'd all take turns, standing in front of the class and
introducing our partner based on what we'd learned from what they
wrote.
I
about fainted. There was a girl at my table who took pity on me and
walked me through this. I wish I could remember more about her,
because she saved me from crying. Now I had a purpose, though it was
impossible for me to accomplish, scared spitless and English-less all
of a sudden, but at least there was no time for tears. Of course,
there would be lots of time for tears later. Like during kickball.
31 comments:
In life, we all have that someone who helps us through rough patches without expecting anything in return. God bless their souls.
Bhavya from the AtoZ Challenge blogging at Just Another Blog
This story is Sooo sad, it is humbling.
Glad someone was there to help.
Bad experience with kickball? Worse than dodgeball?
Another great tale Tina!
Dani @ Entertaining Interests
#warriorminion
We all need at least one person to take pity on us ... well, not necessarily pity, but someone to offer a helping hand. I liked your story. I was horribly shy in school... a miserable experience!
thank goodness for that little girl to walk you through eh? we def need people like that when the world in general is inconsiderate
It is amazing sometimes how just one ally makes things okay!
it's good someone was there, for you i am sending out the positive rays...
HI Tina,
I live by that motto: Life is Good. I loved your story. I remember when I was in elementary school, my teachers always made such a big deal over the 'the new kid' that I wished I could be the new kid. They would assign someone to spend the day with him/her, and I was always so thrilled to be picked to hang with the new kid. That is the way it is suppose to be. No one is ever suppose to be so alone that they count ceiling tile to keep from crying.
New schools are tough but you had to have a new home, new country and a new language as well. No wonder you were trying not to cry. Well done to that little girl who helped you through it.
This is heart wrenching! I can't imagine starting school in a different country. I do agree that the delayed entry is much wiser, but not according to our president, who is pushing an initiative to mandate 4yo kindergarten. So sad to tear those little ones from their mamas.
Love this series. Happy E day!
tm
reading this,I can also remember my school days. how vulnerable we are as kids!
That must've been so hard to be new, esp. from another country. And when I started kindergarten, I was not yet 5! Our school district allowed enrollment as long as the child turned 5 by December 31st. So there were a handful of us late-year babies that were 4 when we went to school.
Your recollections of 'Coming to America' give us a whole new perspective. How fortunate you are to have a memory for details, family photos and in the 3rd grade a 'Friend'! I can see this developing into a Children's Book.
Sue~CollectInTexasGal
AtoZ LoneStar Quilting Bee
Wow! Your journey is so interesting. Thanks for sharing it here.
That is surely a rough first day! It's always great when there's the one kid who goes out of their way to make it a little easier, isn't it?
Lyre at Lyre's Musings
I went to the same school for 8 grades and always felt for the new kids and tried to make friends. The exercise your teacher did is the same one I use to use when training adults, on the first day.
Katie atBankerchick Scratchings
Oh gosh, I'm filled with terror for you on that first day. Ahhh!
How scary! I have taught children from all over the world since I teach at a school near Oracle. I have always gone overboard to make sure the parents and children feel welcome.- So happy you still loved school after that!
As for a third grader...you happened to be a strong girl!! :)
I can so relate to you and your situation.
I was 9 when I arrived in South Africa. I was so confused by the accent that I thought they were talking another language. It took ages to feel like I fit in, luckily I was young enough for it not to affect me for too long.
It's hard to fit in when obviously you stand out so much. The blue- eyed Scottish ginger with the weird accent. Everyone knew me and I knew no-one.
Hi,
I can imagine how you felt. I am an expatriate living in Germany and when I attended my first German class I was shaking in my boots.
I enjoyed reading your article.
Ciao,
Pat
What a fun idea for the A-Z challenge. I go to a church in Spokane Washington that was established by Swedish Immigrants in 1888. They did the sermons in Swedish into the 1950's. In are archives there are books and bibles in Swedish and wonderful old photos.
I enjoyed your story today.
Thanks for sharing.
Margot at A Devotional Mosaic and Spark My Creativity
I wish I could remember my childhood as well as you do. I enjoyed your story! :)
Hi Tina,
A most thoughtful and reflective posting that brings back those school day memories. I know I went through quite the experience as a young lad who moved to Canada from England.
Just a gentle note. Perhaps you could make your postings shorter during your A to Z. Thank you, Tina and have a peaceful weekend.
Gary :)
A lovely telling, and very poignant.
I am loving this series! Thank so much for sharing these glimpses into your life!
Wow that is so traumatic for a child to have to go through. :( I'm glad you shared that though.
Hi Tina .. I can't imagine what it must have been like .. the head doesn't strike me as a kind person - nor the teacher for that matter ... what a way to greet a new pupil from overseas ... oh well we all have them along our journeys of life - but in your new school is a bit much.
As for your 'friend' ... who cares?! Not you now ...
It's fascinating getting the run down of life across the waters ...
Cheers Hilary
I thought that I was scared to start school when I was little. I can't even imagine trying to start school in an entirely different country like that.
Ah, kickball. Kicked the ball either as a foul or right to the pitcher...
tried not to cry. :(
I love your writing!
L
Post a Comment