Confused by this title? Imagine me when, on my fifth birthday, we left everything and everyone familiar in the holler and wound up in Detroit! We lived on a red brick street in the upstairs of a home owned by the widowed and toothless Mrs. Etta King. Standing between the neighboring houses, my outstretched arms could touch the side of each of them.

The term culture shock was an understatement. Immediately, my parents enrolled me in B. Chaney Elementary School within walking distance of the pleasant neighborhood. It truly was like a first day of school, especially since it was so different and diverse from the one room school at the mouth of the holler, where family members were my classmates and teacher. The playground and building were surrounded by a high chain link fence.

Having never before seen Black people, I immediately fell in love with their beautiful smiles. My teacher was a kind and gentle Black woman who wore glasses and had beautifully perfect curls tumbling around her face. It was much later before I realized that more than half of the students were African-American. My excitement at having so many new playmates was great.

Oh, the new things I learned. Of course in my oh so distant memory time is a bit jumbled, but we played and sang things that were new to me, including “Here We Go Loopty Loo,” “Yankee Doodle,” and my favorite, “Pop! Goes the Weasel.”

These were added to my growing repertoire of London Bridge, Ring around the Rosie, Mother May I and Red Rover.

Story time was wonderful with the colorful illustrations in the books the teacher read. Naptime wasn’t much of a hit with me. How could one possibly lie still and quiet with so many playmates, toys, books, and other items that intrigued me so? It was sheer torture that, somehow, I managed to endure.

The time went far too quickly for me even before it was explained that school, at least kindergarten, was for only half a day instead of the whole day I was accustomed to.

Despite the teasing about my unfamiliar Appalachian twang and weird pronunciations with multiple requests to repeat what was spoken, it didn’t seem to slow me down. Within a year or so I developed a sense of embarrassment at my speech and began to withdraw into silence more and more as the teasing escalated.

That first day I tried to learn everyone else’s names. The others were already acquainted since school had already been in session for a couple of months.

Surprisingly, not everyone knew their basic colors, could write their name legibly, or count above ten. Some were impressed with my advanced knowledge, but my untapped lack of humility probably didn’t help my popularity either. Simply shrugging it off, I knew what I knew and that was it.

Then, to my surprise and delight, something brand new was introduced. Rhythm band instruments! Crude and simple of course for 5-year-olds but oh, how I adored that time and anxiously awaited it with piqued anticipation thereafter.

The teacher liked to mix things up and gave each of us a turn with all the various instruments. My favorite was the tambourine, though it seemed it didn’t stay in my hands for very long. The two sticks where one was used to strike the other seemed rather dumb to me, since I had played with sticks my whole life — to that point at least.

Snack time was something new, too. I ate my first graham cracker there at school. Oh, and the water fountain purely fascinated me after drinking from the community bucket and dipper! Of course, I washed my face and eyes frequently until finally getting the hang of it.

When I arrived home after that first day, Daddy was waiting with his camera. Wearing a new dress and my usual braids for the occasion, I can still conjure up the details. It was Kelly green with a very full skirt, which we referred to as a circle skirt. It had a button front bodice and a small matching collar made of the same fabric and color. It tied in the back at the waist.

Though my shoes weren’t new, that problem was easily solved. I sat on the ground near the big tree in the backyard that housed what seemed like a bajillion squirrels and spread that circle skirt all around me until it was perfectly smooth. Tucking my feet and ugly shoes under the edge of the hem worked great to mask them. That picture of me smiling from ear to ear still conjures up memories of my second, first day of school and the joy of learning that has never left me.