A white banner boasting black letters in varied sizes stretched from one end of the chalk board to the other.
Mrs.  Old’meany,  or  Pinchedpuckeredface,  or
I. Don’trememberhername smoothed her pleated skirt, pointed a long, rubber-tipped stick at one of those dark figures, and called my name. My six-year-old heart pounded in my throat. Was I supposed to slide from my seat, stand up, and answer a question I knew would be wrong? Then what?

A scolding, urging me to pay better attention? Or a flurry of snorts and giggles from my classmates as I stared at my shoes?

CLANG-CLANG-CLANG

Saved by the bell?

Mrs. Whateverhernamewas beat her desk with the pointer. “Everyone! Get under your desk and cover your head!”

My six-year-old stomach squeezed tight. The heart-beats pounding in my throat traveled to my ears. From that day forward, I’d sat on the cement steps in front of our apartment, threw up my breakfast at the thought of a nuclear bomb blast, and refused to go to school.

The Fates had my back though, when after a move, in the red brick annex of a near-by parochial school, I was introduced to my new first grade classmates by a beautiful young woman dressed in black flowing robes. Her soft voice and beaming face immediately unraveled the knot in my stomach, while her brilliant smile distracted me from the bloody, half-naked man nailed to a wooden cross fixed to the wall above her head.

Tears were shed the day she announced she was moving to Africa at the end of term. After two years, we still hadn’t heard what had become of her. My eight-year-old self saw her straddling long, twisted vines, a thick mane of golden locks trailing behind her unveiled head, as she swung from one lush green tree to another with Tarzan, whom she’d met after having saved herself from being mauled to death by some blood-thirsty lion.

More than five decades later, on a cold, rainy day last March, I stood outside the principle’s office of St. Appolinaris School in Napa, CA signing in for my first first-grade-classroom-visit to present my debut picture book to a group of six-year-olds. That morning’s breakfast tap-danced in my stomach. This is ridiculous, I grumbled. You know your ABC’s. You can read. You can write. It’s time to put that first grade angst to rest. Swat that lion in the nose, hop on that vine, and swing into the room…

I don’t know what I was so worried about. The kiddos were fun, curious, smart, and engaging. Just look at their reaction at the big reveal…

Dragon and I had an awesome time answering questions and signing our books.
Carla’s coloring pages were a hit as well…

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Thank you St. Appolinaris School, Kim Lombardi and her class for hosting us!

Thank you Naomi Chamblin from Napa Bookmine for setting up the visit, videoing it, and supplying There Are No Dragons In This Book!

 Thank You Reader for stopping by today!
❤
Do you remember your first day of school?
Was it exciting, blasé, or…terrifying?