An Exercise In Memoir

This was a short in-class writing activity, but I'm in the sharing mood today.

I’m the lackadaisical one on the right, if you can’t tell.

It’s so funny to me that my religious preschool even decided to have a graduation. We were five years old. Doesn’t everyone “pass” preschool? Clearly I wasn’t paying attention at the ceremony, though. (I guess I’ve truly always been a maladaptive daydreamer.) I remember standing on tiny risers in front of a tiny stage in a large back room of the church and singing “You Are My Sunshine.” We rehearsed it for weeks — my first foray into being a performer. My mom thought it was adorable and loved it. My Yiayia sat next to her and watched intently. I’m not sure if she loved it as much as my mom, but she must have felt a sense of pride. Or maybe what she felt was relief since she was the one who dressed me in my uniform every morning and drove me to school, always taking me to her favorite donut shop in Chatsworth. She wouldn’t have to make that jaunt anymore.

I went to a private Greek Orthodox school. My mom could afford it because my Yiayia was a member of the church and got us a discount on tuition. I was beyond bored every Friday listening to the weekly church service they made us attend, but we were often rewarded with pizza afterwards. All in all, I liked it. It was typically very warm in Los Angeles, so the teachers often left the doors open. I remember staring at the beams of sunshine that would seep in through the doorframe every time I laid down for nap time in the afternoon. I don’t think I ever truly slept. This is a habit that hasn’t changed — I don’t really sleep now. 

As my year of preschool progressed, my mom started to worry she could no longer afford the tuition to keep me there for the rest of my schooling. She was also adamantly against me going to the public schools in my area. (We lived in the Valley.) She said the two high schools I would have possibly gone to were “not good.” When I was younger, I didn’t really understand what this meant. “Not good” how? Would I have still learnt the same things everyone else learns in high school? I was always a smart kid anyway. She later told me that in New Hampshire, the public schools were better and the extracurricular activities were cheaper. By raising me in the middle of nowhere, she could afford to pay for my soccer cleats and piano lessons and dance classes. She was just doing the best thing she could think of — being a single mom always comes with motley choices. The older I get, the more I understand.

Maybe this is what I was thinking/daydreaming/worrying about during my preschool graduation ceremony. In less than a month, I’d be moving away from all my new classmates. I often wonder what would have happened if we’d never left. Would these other Greek children around me have become my best friends? Would I have known their families like my own? Would we have shared delicious meals together? Would I have learnt the traditional dances with them? Would I have learnt my language? Would Yiayia have taught me if I’d stayed in Los Angeles with her a bit longer? Now she’s gone — I’ll have to learn on my own. Maybe I should try going to church again.