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When you read the title, you might be imagining the sound of a church bell or the ring of a pendulum clock. But no, it was not like that. It was my loud screaming noise. Let me share one of the most momentous experiences of my sweet childhood.

At the age of three, I started my schooling in a nearby nursery school. My school started in the early morning, at seven o’clock, when my neighborhood was yet to get out of bed. My mom would start doing my hair and dressing me around 6:30 a.m. It was the signal that I had to leave my magnificent toys and go to my horrible school. No, I didn’t want to step into the school’s periphery. One thought came to mind: If I set out to school, I would be separated from my mom, dad, grandma, and grandpa. Just imagining this situation, I was nervous and frightened. I felt that at school, I would never receive the warmth and comfort I had at home in my den.

So I created an awful situation. Every morning, I started crying and shouting in my high-pitched voice. The whole neighborhood would hear my wailing. My whole family would then devote themselves to convincing me of the benefits of school: making friends and having lovable teachers. They gave me chocolate and promises, like getting new toys after school. But I didn’t listen to anybody. Nothing would change my mind. I didn’t want to go to the school, which felt like a cage to me. My only savior was my grandma. I took shelter in my grandmother’s lap in the kitchen to get rid of my mom. My grandmother always pampered me by saying, “Leave her; nothing bad will happen if she is absent one school day.”

But my screaming was in vain, as my parents were determined to educate me by sending me to school. It was not a one-day drama. It was my regular cacophony. My whole neighborhood was accustomed to it. At first, they were curious to know what was happening. Later they got used to it and became my regular audience. They all knew about it. My screeching time was so reliable that it became a morning alarm for my neighbors.

After navigating the hazardous situation, my father dropped me at school. But I was so stubborn that I didn’t give up. I used all my efforts to avoid entering the school. I lay down in front of my school, holding onto my father’s leg and repeatedly saying: “I don’t want to go to school. Please, please.” But at last, one of my schoolteachers would come and rescue my father from me, successfully convincing me to go with her. It was a routine.

I don’t remember when I started growing up and falling in love with school. In later years, I did not miss a single day of school. Gradually, my neighbors started missing their alarm. Now, when I hear this kind of clamoring in my neighborhood, I have flashbacks to those days. I smile and cherish my memory.
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Suchandra Sur came to the U.S. from India in 2018. After living in Texas, she moved to New Jersey and has been taking English classes at the New York Public Library’s Washington Heights branch with Lead Instructor Elke Stappert. Suchandra Sur loves singing, watching animated movies, and cooking innovative dishes. Her native language is Bengali, and she wants to explore new cultures, customs, and traditions, crossing all barriers.