It was the first day back to kindergarten after Christmas break. Most people hate school, but I didn’t. Me, being the morning person I am, already had a huge smile on my face, excited to start the day! Nothing could hold me back, except for the unfortunate placement of a garbage can lid on a school playground. I should have known better to watch my step.
It was 7:15 a.m. in the small town of Hicken. I was getting ready for school as chipper as usual; getting ready as quickly as possible was my main concern every morning. (Being only five years old, it took me about two minutes to throw on some overalls, a t-shirt and my tennis shoes.) I got my clothes on, ate and brushed my teeth. I then slipped on my shoes and waited patiently. I was always ready before everyone else, so I would spend most of my morning sitting at the dining room table, swinging my legs back and forth enthusiastically, waiting for the rest of the gang to be finished getting their stuff together.
By 7:50 everyone was finally ready. We all wiggled into the van, buckled, and headed down the road about a quarter mile. A grin shone on my face. Before my eyes was the little, two room school house that I was lucky enough to spend my day in.
“Everyone pile out!” My dad groaned, still not quite awake.
“Yay!” I screamed over everyone’s moans and yawns. I squirmed into my big snow pants and snow boots and jumped into the pile of snow, outside the car door, that had been produced by the snowplow. I trudged happily through the snow; to tell you the truth, I didn’t even like snow that much I was just happy to be back at the old brick school. Time stood still. I couldn’t have been more excited as I stepped through the gate surrounding the school property. The hinges of the gate let out a small squeak as a shoved it open. My excitement was becoming hard to contain; as I have said before, I wanted nothing more than to be back in my classroom. I let out a screech of enthusiasm and went racing towards the the school door. Sadly, I only got about 15 feet before I lost my footing. The snow and ice covered a slick garbage can lid that laid on the ground. I had stepped directly on it. I teetered for a minute, stumbling to catch my balance, and then face planted. The cold wet snow embraced my face and made me shiver.
I quickly stood up and kept walking, pretending nothing had happened. When I saw my sisters’ faces, however, I knew they had both seen. The two of them looked at one another and released a wild burst of laughter. My could feel my face begin to heat up, and my vision begin to blur. I tried to hold it in, but I knew my efforts were worthless. My bottom lip quivered uncontrollably as tears streamed down my face. I turned around to run back to my dad for comfort. I knew he had witnessed the whole thing and would defend me against my sisters’ cruel laughter.
Unfortunately, I was all worked up and not paying attention to where I was going. I walked right back into the same trash can trap. Once again, I slipped on the little devil and landed right back on my butt on the cold hard ground.
“Sydney, stop trying to run away from your problems. Just come on! We have school,” my sister said trying to hold back her laughter. My other sister, on the other hand, was on the ground she was laughing so hard.
By now, all I wanted to do was go back home. My hip was throbbing from fall number one and my ankle and knee hurt from fall number two. I wanted to go lay in my bed and cry off my embarrassment, but I knew if I gave up now my sisters would never let me hear the end of it. I stood up once again, sucked back my tears and puffed out my chest. I brushed off my knees for one more dramatic effect and took a step in the direction of my school. Third times a charm I thought. I was wrong.
My feet came out from underneath me, and this time I could hear my dad laughing back in the car. My sister, who had been laughing so hard I’m surprised she didn’t wet herself, finally came to my rescue. She grabbed my arm and dragged me up the steps to the wooden school door. She was holding back her laughter, trying to be mature, but she still had a huge smile planted on her face.
When we reached the door, everyone could tell I had been crying.
“What’s wrong?” One boy asked.
“What happened?” Asked another. I buried my face into my coat at the sounds of my sisters’ words.
“The trash can lid.”
When something happens to you three times in a row, most people catch on that they are doing something wrong. For me, the problem was not watching where I stepped. I allowed myself to trip over the trash can lid. Three times in a row. If I had watched where I stepped I would have been able to save myself from total and utter humiliation.
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