Let your mind wander back to kindergarten, and think about those simpler times and all the fun you had. It doesn’t matter where you come from; you have to admit that kindergarten was fun. You played with toys, sang songs, colored pictures of fire trucks, and learned radically new concepts like sharing and the letter Q.
Until kindergarten, did you even know there were letters, much less one known as Q? Probably not.
For most of us, kindergarten was the start of all our education, unless you had really uptight parents who drilled you on phonics, arithmetic and penmanship while your friends were outside sucking water out of the garden hose and making parachutes out of old bed sheets.
And there was one thing about kindergarten that has to be elevated to mythic levels: the cookies!
"Cookies? I don’t remember any special cookies in kindergarten..."
Well, if you don’t remember, then you didn’t have
those cookies. The cookies I’m referring to were the size of saucers and about the tastiest things I’ve ever eaten.
Those cookies were even tastier than the two helpings of Crème brûlée I ate one late night in Belgium. I hadn’t planned on two helpings, but after I raved, "It’s better than the ones I ate in Paris!" the waiter decided I was a true friend of Brussels and he brought me a refill, on the house. But even as amazing as those sugary Belgian treats were, I’d still rather have one of the cookies from kindergarten, if I could find them.
My kindergarten cookies were made by Charles Chips, and they came in a huge can, literally big enough to use as an ottoman if you were low on cash and somewhat bohemian. When the teacher opened the can at snack time, it smelled like she had opened the door to heaven’s bakery.
I’ve never been able to forget those cookies, and I’ve never been able to find any as good. We had some excellent cookies at church a few weeks ago that came close to the taste, and I guess that’s all I can hope for.
I don’t remember much about kindergarten, but I do remember the taste of those cookies. And I remember having to dress up as a donkey for the graduation play while my friend was given the much more-appealing squirrel role.
Oh, and I remember the letter Q. It comes in handy every now and then.
David McCoy, a notorious storyteller and proud Yellow Jacket, lives in Covington and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.