Lillian on Life Read Free Page A

want to miss a single thing. If they could ring bells or something when we are supposed to change our activities, then maybe I could be more attentive.”
    Mrs. Wade laughed. “An excellent idea, Lillian. It’s interesting that you refer to them as babies, dear. The youngest would have been two, I’m sure.”
    â€œBabes in the woods, then,” I said. “Innocents.”
    I saw Mrs. Wade’s eyebrows twitch down at this, but she smiled again. “Fair enough. Anyway! Well done. And on to a kindergarten class now, where the youngest will be five, and most of the children will be six.”
    Suddenly my tongue tingled with a panic I usually reserved for standing up to speak in class. “Can’t I stay at the nursery school?” I blurted.
    â€œNo, dear. You’ve got to do next term in a kindergarten, just like all the others.”
    â€œHow about a couple of hours a week?”
    Mrs. Wade folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “What for?” she asked.
    â€œFor the babies,” I said. “We know each other now. Won’t it, I mean, isn’t it hard for them to adjust to new people all the time?”
    â€œHard for the children?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œIt would be difficult if their teacher changed every term, yes, but as it’s only the assistant that changes, and they know it’s going to happen, it seems to be fine. Anyway, Lillian,” she said, unclasping her hands and pulling my file into her lap, “I can’t see a gap in your schedule here that would allow for extra time in a nursery school.”
    I don’t remember what was said after that. I returned to my room with a piece of paper in my hand, giving me the details of my kindergarten assignment, but I couldn’t look at it. I stood and stared out the window. Did six-year-olds hang on to your neck? I didn’t think so. I couldn’t bear it.
    That evening in the library I tried to continue with my reading of
Methods for the Study of Personality in Young Children
, but all the flavor had gone out of the meal. Thenext morning, I didn’t get up. I think I went to class once or twice in the next two weeks, but I wasn’t really there. One afternoon Ann came and found me sitting under one of the big trees by the chapel. When she pulled me to my feet and put her arm around my shoulders I realized I was cold. I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there. It was hard to think.
    I went home to Columbia and started at the University of Missouri. Just English lit this time.
    I’ll have children of my own,
I told myself.
I don’t need to take care of other people’s.
    My class schedule didn’t allow me to be home at the same time every day. I had to study after dinner, which worked very well when Mother was watching television in the sunroom and Poppa was reading the evening paper in his chair in the living room. There were times when I would sit down with my books and sigh and run my hands through my hair before starting, and Poppa would get up, come over to where I was sitting, slide off my shoes and massage my feet. He didn’t slide both my shoes off at once. He’d take one off and massage that foot, and the other foot would stay on the floor like a girl on the edge of a dance, waiting to be noticed and chosen. With both thumbs he’d press the ball of my foot, spreading my toes out slowly. Hesqueezed both sides of the foot from the top, from the ankle and toward him to the toe. He’d always finish by placing the mount of Venus of one hand against the arch of my foot, and curving his other hand over the top of the foot, closing me in, warming my blood, always taking care with every movement.
    Did Mother let him do that for her? I think there was quite a lot Mother didn’t let Poppa do. Poor Poppa. His hands were so strong and sensitive. He didn’t talk when he massaged my feet. He just looked at them.
    The way I saw it,