Meltdown

School is a big part of anyone’s life, whether they like it or not. When I got into high school I was overjoyed to be going to school, for once in my life. This wasn’t the case my first day of school in 2001 when I went to preschool. I threw probably the biggest fit of my life. My mother and I look on it now and laugh, but at the time, she could’ve beat me in front of everyone out of embarrassment.

            It was my first day at preschool and my mom had walked me to the bus stop. We waited there for about fifteen minutes, I looked around and saw a couple of other kids standing with their mothers, all with the same terrified look on their faces. That’s really all I remember from the time pre tantrum, but my mother says that I did a little bit more than just stand around looking mortified. Apparently, I paced around aimlessly, trying to bargain with my mother. She says that it was the funniest thing ever seeing a four year old try to convince her that he saw no point in going to school and that it would be more beneficial for me to dedicate my time to training to become a Power Ranger.  

            Finally the bus arrived, and I was scared stiff. I made sure that I was the last one to get on board. As my mother half dragged me up the steps of the bus, the shock ended and I went wild. I attacked anyone that came near, the world morphed into a blur of tears, fists and screaming. The bus driver, the other parents my own mother couldn’t calm the atomic bomb that had manifested itself into a four year old Mexican child, with glass too big for his face and a bowl cut.

            Eventually, after a ten minute delay, my mom gave up, picked me up and said, “fine we’re going home,” in probably the scariest tone my mother has ever used. Suddenly I didn’t want to go home, but still, anything seemed better than school. She took me home and sat down on the couch with me in silence for two hours before I finally broke and agreed to go to school. The drive to the school is a blur, but I remember arriving at my classroom and throwing, yet another, nuclear tantrum. This time, my mother smiled and said, “see you after school,” and preceded to run out of the classroom. It took two teachers thirty minutes to calm me down with a mix of blocks and crayons.

            School has been a roller coaster ride, from beginning, and I’m sure, until the end. I hope I go out with a bang just like I started. Ultimately, I see my separation anxiety at the time as endearing. My mother won’t be around for much longer, and when that time comes, I won’t be breaking down in a school bus.