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People say that a person learns life lessons in Kindergarten or at least one person said it and it became a book. I don’t think you learn everything in that stage of life but there are some lessons that are important. Learn to say sorry when you’ve hurt someone. Stand in line and wait your turn. Being mean is not nice and people don’t like you when you’re not nice.
My favorite though is the one about sharing. We shared everything when we were little from our food, to toys and even to germs. But as we got older, the idea of possessing something for ourselves increases along with our independence or at least that’s what I’ve noticed. In the classroom as a kindergartner, I always shared my peanut butter and jelly sandwich with this guy named Luke. He was pretty awesome from what I remember. That and his mom made the best ham and cheese sandwiches. I’m just glad that he believed in the whole sharing is caring ideal.
With her though, sharing was never a chore for me. It all started with a New York cheesecake drizzled with strawberry compote. There was one left and there were two of us. Though it broke my heart a little that the scrumptious food wasn’t going to be mine, I gave her a smile as I scanned other potential dessert choices. She got there first and by general rules, she was the rightful dessert owner. To my surprise, she handed me a fork and told me that the dessert was on her. It was the first week of filming. I couldn’t pronounce her first name properly as I somehow always emphasized the wrong syllables and her last name was still foreign to my tongue. But here was a girl with killer eyes offering to share her delicious dessert with me. What was supposed to be a thirty minute break turned to two hours of non-stop chat about everything we could possibly think of. We compared different works of art and defended our favorite Bronte characters. We discussed just how underrated the outskirts of Los Angeles were. She even gave me what seemed to me as a thesis project on why kids should be afraid of sharks and I divulged my fascination with the depressing novel Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. The next day, at the exact same time, we found ourselves discussing food and being the younger child over tiramisu. It was my treat and she gladly accepted.
We kept track of who was buying when on our own mental scorecards. Deep down, I anxiously waited for when she would be in town so I could show her my newfound dessert place down Ocean or West Avenue. Dreams, hopes, woes, sorrows, sadness, joy, laughter and much more were exchanged through what I called D Day. It was an experience that back then, seemed so trivial, but looking back, means so much more now that we’re busier and find ourselves in different places when all we want to do is sit down and eat Rice Krispies together.
So to my Kindergarten teacher, Ms. Lindon, thanks for making me sit at the time out corner for not sharing my cookie with Claire when she asked (though she didn’t really say please and I think she should have been put in time out too). And to you, New York Cheesecake. Thanks for working your magic.
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