I remember walking to the door of the kindergarten classroom and spying Bully sitting over there -giggling and joking with all the other kids. Laughter shook off the walls all around, but it was somehow different from yesterday's shrieks (instigated by Bully) when everyone had stared at me because Mother had forced me to wear short pants to kindergarten. It was late in March and all the boys in class now were wearing knickers - that wondrous spring 1933 preparation .for fall's initiation into real public school, but Mother had pushed me into short pants and I had tasted for the first time, yesterday, ridicule and mortification - and a strange, bitter memory.
But today was entirely different. My corduroy knickers matched all the other boys' -in style, in color, in boyish toughness and endurance. Yet, none of the others had noticed yet. Bravely now, I walked straight into the kindergarten classroom and sat right next to hated Bully.
I tried getting Bully's attention by tugging his shirt, pulling his arm, tapping his hair, but Bully was too excitedly busy, chattering, gesticulating, telling endless stories to listeners. He paid no attention to me at all. Neither did any of the other classmates, when at last I gave up on Bully himself and proudly pointed to my corduroy knickers - for the other boys' benefits.
They had forgotten yesterday -completely. All of them! My shame and mortification, completely forgotten by everyone. Except me . . .
Author: Paul Burns
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