Personal Narrative: Preschool For Me

Preschool for me, is when I learned the rudiments of life. I learned how to count, to write my name, to love. Okay, maybe not the last one, but in preschool I did think I was in love.

Imagine a young neighborhood, little kids running in and out and in between all of the freshly painted houses. The new parents yelling for their kids to be safe when they are just crossing the street to the house directly across from them. Friendly neighbors walking their puppies around the block, waving at those they pass. The new neighborhood was buzzing with excitement.

A little blond girl with the ugliest haircut was jumping on her best friend’s trampoline. Their delightment growing with each bounce. It was a few weeks until the blonde girl would start kindergarten.

It was a week before I would start kindergarten, it was an early August morning. I was playing outside on my front lawn. I loved to lay my face against the side of the pavement looking at the little water droplets hanging on to the strands of grass. It may sound weird and strange, but I loved when the grass would be wet in the shade but dry in the sun. I stood up to go over and get my best friend Veronica when the blue eyed munchkin came over. I was like an excited puppy waiting for him to finally cross the street. We were standing beside my favorite tree. It was the perfect tree to climb. All my excitement would soon be crushed by the wrecking ball he would throw

My heart was repaired later that day, thanks to my mom giving me ice cream. Chocolate chip cookie dough to be exact. I felt even worse about going to kindergarten. I wish that I could just stay back with all of my friends. I felt alone, like I would always be alone and have no friends. At the time, I dreamed that Sam and I would always be together. I thought that one day we would get married and live in a big house with five dogs and five cats. The dogs for him and the cats for me. I had pictured everything that a little girl would ever want. But the only thing that my preschool love really taught me his how mean boys are. Even from a young age, I knew to stay away from boys. At least that 's what my dad had always said.

As all little kids do, we got over it and continued to play with one another. Eventually we drifted apart. The girls stayed with the girls and the boys stayed with the boys. We only hang out when it’s snowing outside or they want to use my pool. Now, what was once was a youthful, lively neighborhood is a deserted, lonely street. No kids running around playing four square. No parents waving at their kids from their windows, carefully watching their every move. Now everyone is inside doing who knows what, and have forgotten about what we all