In 1950 the country school maybe a mile up the road from the farm where I grew up was in its last year of existence as a school. Helen Coyle, a neighbor, was the teacher of this 8-grade school. Somehow she got together with my mom and a decision was made that my "kindergarten" would be 6 weeks at this school, and I would enter 1st grade in Northwood at age 5 going on 6.
I have good memories of that short span. It was fun to be around the kids up to 8 years older than me, was obviously low pressure, and it seemed there was plenty of recess time. We got to play Annie-I-Over (if that's how it was spelled, but I don't know) the schoolhouse and I don't recall we ever played that anywhere else. There was a lot of screaming when either side caught the ball and came running around the corner to claim some victims, like Dodgeball.
Over the next few years, until the school was abandoned, we used it for Bible School. Since we were pushing into June, the oats crop in the field at Mielke's farm next door was perhaps 3 feet tall and perfect for creating paths by crawling on hands and knees, pushing the oats down ahead of you with your arms. But Duane Mielke's dad didn't think so, and the message came back to stop doing that.
That fall it was time to go to the real school, but I did some protesting. I refused to ride the bus, so Mom drove me to town. Then I refused to go into the school. I did some negotiating to get a new coloring book and colors out of the deal before I finally went on in. The next day my Mom decided I didn't understand what was best for me so she physically dragged me down the driveway, threw me on the bus, and said goodbye. Today that probably qualifies as child abuse, but it worked, and I soon grew to love being at school with all my friends.