I never really knew why my parents didn’t enroll me in kindergarten at the start of the school year. Maybe it was because our lives were unsettled—we had left Florida for California, only to get stuck in Texas. We spent weeks living in a rundown motel while my dad scraped together enough money to finish the journey.
By the time I finally started school, I was the new kid, dropped into kindergarten halfway through the year. The first day felt overwhelming. I had never been around so many kids my age—honestly, I hadn’t been around many kids at all. I was used to playing alone. My younger brothers were too small to be much fun, and I don’t remember spending much time with them.
That morning, during the first playtime, a boy about my size strutted up to me with a smug look on his face. "I’m the toughest kid in kindergarten," he announced, puffing out his chest. "And I’m going to beat you up."
Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the months of moving, the instability, or just the fact that I didn’t like being pushed around—but I didn’t hesitate. "No, you’re not," I shot back and shoved him down.
For a second, he just sat there, stunned. Then, instead of getting mad, he got up, brushed himself off, and from that day on, He wanted to be my friend. But I never paid much attention to him.
Would you love to hear more of these childhood misadventures?
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