Carpooling

When I was five, I had the most amazing kindergarten teacher. She was kind, loving, warm - all the things a five year-old could wish for.

What my kindergarten teacher didn't realize was that I was a holy terror waiting to be unleashed. I think her opinion of me might be different, but I can clearly speak for myself when I say that I was a holy terror when I was five. I wasn't a brat, but I sure was one smooth talker. I was so smooth-talking that I once told my kindergarten teacher that I could carpool with another family after school.

One bright and sunny day my mother approached my school ready to pick me up after a half-day at school. She arrived at my classroom, purveyed the sights, and alas! She couldn't find me. So what did she do? Well naturally she went up to my kindergarten teacher and asked her where I was.

"Ms. L," my mother began, trying (but unsuccessfully failing) to keep the anger out of her voice. "I'm looking for Kirsten and I don't see her here. Do you happen to know where she is?"

"Oh! She's not here. She told me that she could carpool with Mr. B's family this afternoon."

"You WHAT?! YOU LET A FIVE YEAR-OLD TELL YOU THAT IT WAS OKAY TO CARPOOL WITH ANOTHER FAMILY?"

"Well, she said it was okay," my kindergarten teacher replied.

"It is NOT okay! She's FIVE!"

I can only imagine that my mother yelled those sentences. I mean, my mother can get pretty angry when the well-being of either one of her daughters is threatened. I was all of five years old, going to private school in a blue and white uniform, and my teacher basically let me get kidnapped by a classmate's family.

Okay, so Ms. L didn't let me get kidnapped. I totally convinced Ms. L that - because I was being selfish, of course - it was fine for me to carpool with another family.

What happened in the interim, I'll never know. I'm sure my kindergarten teacher was in a tizzy and thinking that my mother was going to go to the administration and call for her resignation. Whatever the case, my mother decided to go look for me at the Baptist daycare that was across the street from my school. Apparently I was leading my peers in a conga line down the hallway when she appeared.

I stopped dead in my tracks and said, "Uh-oh."

"You're right, 'uh-oh'," my mom said sternly.

It was about this time that I started praying to God that my mother wouldn't send me to a third-world country where children are forced to make rivets for jeans. My mom didn't send me away, but she did question why I went home with the B family.

"I carpooled!" I shouted.

"You carpooled? You carpooled? Honey, do you know what 'carpooling' means?"

I was stumped. Really stumped. What did this word "carpooling" mean?

"Honey, carpooling means that a family picks up and drives a group of kids every other day of the week. We (heavy emphasis on the word "we") cannot carpool because we do not have a car. WE ride public transportation to get where we need to go. YOU ride the bus."

"Oh."

And that was the end of my carpooling adventures.