When I was little and went to school for the very first time, there were toys everywhere. They spilled out of drawers and cupboards, brought out onto the big blue mats where lots of other children already played. Quiet as I was, I joined in, thrilled that after worrying, school was meant to be fun.
My favourite toy of the day was Sticklebricks and, being that sort of child, I took careful note of the big, deep, wide drawer it came from, one right next to the floor, handy for small children to reach. I knew that I wouldn't forget it and looked forward to getting them back out when I started school properly later in the year.
The day dawned and no toys. No toys the next day. I was told that the toys only came out if we were good, and then only came out on special occasions, and then only came out when the teacher said - this last comment made with a stern face, after my many days of asking.
It seemed to me that it would be a rare day when the toys came out, and yet, on that very first day when we all played, I had been told the toys were going to be part of school. I was a dizzy, high-imagination child but I had an awkward habit of remembering details and I knew this promise had been made.
I often looked over at the drawer and imagined the lonely Sticklebricks waiting inside. I wondered why there would be so many toys in the school but we never got to play with them.
Over time, I stopped hoping for the toys, though I never forgot them. In my mind's eye I could still see the class full of children on the big blue mat, playing with the toys. I sometimes mentioned them to the other children and asked if they would like to play with them but they just said Yes and then looked shocked when I told them to ask the teacher.
The toys never came out again, not for being good, or special occasions or for when the teacher said they could. I guess they stayed just where they were until the next round of children arrived to see what school was like.
It always perplexed me, this promise of fun with a delivery of closed doors and drawers. It was like a punishment for being there, the natural opposite of toys being for good children. Yet I knew we weren't bad, it was just a long, drawn-out lesson in toys only being for the most unusual of days and the rest of the time filled with good children not leaving their seats and working at their desks.
And, for what it's worth, Sticklebricks are very educational. You learn how to build bright, colourful worlds that stick together even after you let go and only come apart when you want them to,
That's the kind of world we could all do with getting out of the cupboard once in a while.
©Amanda J Harrington 2015
