The fall of 1940.  A momentous year.  Kindergarten.

We lived on 11^th Avenue in Oakland.  Bella Vista Grammar School stood a block up the hill and across the intersection.  Miss Wallman the teacher.

The first day turned out to be somewhat traumatic.

I had learned to read at a precocious age.  I was far ahead of anyone else in the class.  That fact proved to be irrelevant because I felt completely at one with everyone else.  The furniture provided a bond.

We entered, that first day, to find ourselves in a bright, cheerful room.  Pictures and letters and everything a kindergarten room should be.  I noticed none of it.  I only noticed the chairs and the tables.  Wonder of wonders, they were small.  My size.  I’d never sat in a chair like that.  My feet touched the ground.  My elbows rested on the table.  Lost in the tactile moment I ran my hands over the smooth wood of the sides of the seat.

The wonder of it continued to hold my attention.  I barely noticed when Miss Wallman told us that in the future we would be paired.  Whenever we went anywhere each of us would walk with the same other child.  I was paired a girl who had long brown hair.  She sat across the table from me.  She wore MaryJanes.

We were told to tell each other our names.  Her name was Elizabeth.  “E *  liz * a * beth” she sounded out.

For some unknown reason I couldn’t pronounce it.  Try as I might it came out “E * lith * a * bus.”

I tried several times.  It came out the same.  Apparently out of sheer frustration she threw a crayon at me.  It bounced off my shoulder.  I scrambled down to get it and throw it back at her.  At that moment we caught Miss Wallman’s attention.  Or I did.  Elizabeth sat primly in her chair.

Just as I stood up with the crayon, Miss Wallman arrived.  Snatching me by the back of my collar, she yanked me upright.  So tightly did she pull me up that my arms splayed wide.  Probably my eyes bugged out as well.

The rest of the class, Elizabeth included, watched with a certain abstract interest to see what would happen to the miscreant wretch I had proven to be.

Swiftly the teacher dealt out summary justice.  In tones stentorian she announced the form that capital punishment henceforth would take for anyone who pushed too far the boundaries of propriety—

 The Thick Chair

I was now the poster child.

I never found out where the name came from.  I thought maybe every kindergarten had one.  The Thick Chair sat in the far corner of the room behind a folding screen.  The seat was indeed thick.  Hard.

When we got there the chair was so large I couldn’t get into it by myself.  Miss Wallman had to help.  There I sat.  My feet dangled down, nowhere near the floor.

Inches away from my face stood the screen.  I could see only the texture of the cloth.

I could listen only to the happy sounds of my classmates as they used blunt scissors to cut shapes out of paper.

I suffered in silence.  After what seemed hours Miss Wallman liberated me.  Now chastised I returned to my little chair and resumed my place in the class.

Elizabeth smiled at me.