I grew up in the fifties. I was born in 1945 and I started kindergarten in 1949. At that time the NYC cut off for entering school was you had to be five years old by May first. My birthday was April 28th so I started and spent most of my kindergarten years while I was four years old. That probably explains a lot !
Back in the forties and fifties parents did not have a say in when or where their kids went to school. If you were going to be five before the cut off . . . you started school in September. You didn't get to pick and choose your school because the only choice you had was Catholic school or public school and both of those were within walking distance. There were no school buses, you walked every day . . . fall, winter and spring. Your parents didn't drive you to school because any family who owned a car used that car for the dad to get to work each day. If you got sick during school you waited till school was over and then dragged your sorry ass home. (I remember one time I got sick in school and my mother had to call a cab and spend money to come and get me. She was not a happy camper.)
All the kids in my neighborhood went to the same two schools. There was a rivalry between the Catholic school kids and us public school kids. Basically we thought the Catholic school kids were snobs and wusses. The Catholic school kids thought us public school kids were too dumb to get into their school so they looked at us like we were inferior. (I didn't want to go to Catholic school because I didn't want some nun whacking me on my knuckles if I didn't know the answer to her question.)
Neither Catholic school nor public schools back in the fifties had any special programs for "special" kids. There were no classes for the "Gifted and Talented" nor were there any classes for kids with learning disabilities. There were classrooms filled with kids . . . some were smarter and some were slower but we were all in the same class and we all learned the same stuff every single day.
Isn't it amazing how sixty years ago there was no Attention Deficit Disorder, (ADD), or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Kids were not Hyperactive or Autistic. No one ever knew anyone with Downs Syndrome or Dyslexia. We just knew that Johnny was a little slow so we would all help him during class and Mary was REALLY smart so we all wanted her on our team for the spelling bee. If Robert couldn't sit still while the teacher was teaching we all worried that he would get sent to the principal who had a "spanking machine" in her office. (Talk about your Urban Legends . . . there wasn't a kid in my school who didn't know about Miss Schluter's spanking machine that was hidden some where in her office. None of ever saw this mythical machine but we just KNEW it existed. Just the possibility of physical torture was a deterrent for even the most active of us kids. )
Fast forward to 2020 where just about every kid you meet has been diagnosed with something that explains his or her behavior. It's a good thing that we have all the testing to identify problems in kids so that they can get the help they need BUT just like the fact that I never wore a helmet when I rode my bike or roller skated and am still alive to write about it I also have come to the realization that I probably "suffer" from OCD. All these years later and I'm just beginning to put the pieces together.
I looked up Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and the definition says that anxiety is a large component of this affliction. Check that one off for me . . . That's been an issue all my life until I went on my "Happy Pills". The fact that I have so generously passed my anxiety on to my children and grand children is just a bonus for us all.
To be clear, I have never been nor ever will be officially diagnosed with OCD but I know I must have it. And the reason I know I must have it became clear to me today as I was sitting outside crocheting.
I like to crochet . . . I learned from my mom years and years ago and when ever I am stressed or bored or just want something to do that doesn't require much thought I pick up some yarn and make an Afghan. (When I was a kid I made hundreds of pot holders but now that I'm an adult I have moved up to afghans.). My creations are not complex or masterful but I enjoy doing them. What caught my attention today was that I realized I was counting the stitches which is really not necessary when going in a straight line. Not only do I count the stitches but since I'm doing a "double crochet" I count each loop that I make.
Example . . .
"One one one, two two two, three three three and so on. I do the counting in my head so no one around me knows just how nuts I am but no matter what is going on around me I keep counting. This realization got me thinking about when I go for a walk . . . I count my steps . . . ALWAYS ! When I'm in the pool and treading water I find myself counting. As I sit here by the window watching the deer if I'm not blogging I count as I'm rocking in the chair.
So it's totally official . . . I am certifiable !!! All those years that I struggled in school, HATING school, (except for kindergarten and college) it is because I had a "disability". Go Figure ! Just think if I had been a kid growing up today I could have all sorts of special services to help me learn.
What I can't figure out is how I did manage to survive all these years ?
I think I'll sit down and count the reasons I've made it this far.
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