My early memory is not pleasant. It’s from kindergarten, when I had problems with food. There was a nun that was always angry at me because I didn’t want to eat my lunch.
I remember a great dining hall with a lot of wooden long tables where a lot of children dressed with light blue and pink smocks were seated. I remember enormous windows that seemed like glass windows of a church. They casted a soft and cold light on all of us, and I could see fine dust in the middle of it, dancing slowly in the light. My eyes followed them and then dropped on my plate, where a slice of meat and polenta was waiting for me. I didn’t like polenta, and I still don’t really like it, even if from time to time I still try to eat it, casting away this memory.
I can remember the little kid of my same class, dressed in light blue and seated right next to me at the table, putting a finger in his nose and then dropping something really unpleasant in my plate, right in the polenta. I wrinkled my nose and pushed away my lunch, but then came the nun. “Eat it, Valentina!” she said snorting. “If you don’t eat it I will take you to the corner and make you eat it.” she added when I refused to.
The little kid laughed when the nun, at the end, took me from my arm and forcefully made me stand up to take me to a wooden table hidden in a corner, next to the entrance of the dining hall. Near it there was a big wardrobe, and its shadow concealed the table really well.
Then the nun made me seat at that table, next to her, and thrown the plate in front of me. I was on verge of crying because she was still shouting at me, and I was really embarrassed and terrified of her. Everyone was scared, and no one looked my way. I didn’t even have the courage or the voice to tell her that I didn’t want to eat polenta because there was ‘something’, but she still made me eat it. I tried to avoid the spot where I could clearly see the booger.
I don’t remember if I actually had eat it at the end. I started crying and then in the distance I recall the sound of the bell that suggest the ending of lunchtime. Still, it was a frightening experience…
Daily Post, Childhood Revised