There's nothing kind about a Kindergarten tire.

I have, and have always had a "What the hell, try it, and if it's bad then we'll fix it later" kind of attitude. This comes to show frequently when I think I can make it into parking spaces but end up hitting curbs or other vehicles. This hasn't ever really mattered much until husband came into play. Before him I drove a 1995 Toyota Camry with 175,000 miles. Hitting curbs and those damn poles that keep you from swiping buildings was just a normal lunchtime funtivity for me. I think I only had one hubcap and my Dad had bought that for me out of pure pity. As though one hubcap might land me a husband more than no hubcap.

I'm getting off track.

Kindergarten. 1988.

Our prestigious Edmond Public school had tires, halfway in the ground, for crawling on. The biggest tire was so big you could get inside of it when the other kids made fun of your bowl cut. However, everyone always wanted to play on/in that one. It was more popular than sticking our fingers through the fences behind the school to see who would get bitten the worst by the sickly dog with one ear infected off. I was so 'tire'd of running to the big tire (I won't make that pun again. I promise), only to be disappointed that it was full of mean kids who lived in Oak Tree.

I thought to myself, "Enough of this. I'm 5. I weigh 12 pounds. I will just play inside the LITTLE tire. None of the cool kids have thought of that because their asses are too big to fit. Well. I'm in Kindergarten and this is the last year I will be cute and tiny."

I went to sit inside the tire, by myself, (if I had friends would I be playing inside a tire?) and I didn't fit. I stared longingly at all the pretty 1st graders with their jeans pegged, smoking cigarettes inside the big tire and knew I would never get there. I had to make this one work. So I started at the top of the inside of the tire, where it was the most flexible. Then I held my breath and thought about happy things like Full House and trashcan candy.  I squished, squeezed, and indian-burned my body down the rest of the length of the tire to where I was sitting on the ground. Then I pretended to be having fun. I took off my shoe and dangled it and then put it back on. It was a lot of fun. A lot of fun I was having and no one else was, because they were busy waiting for the big tire.

Then the bell rang and all the kids that weren't friends with me ran back to their classrooms. I was so happy at my triumph but very unhappy that I could not. get. out. I wiggled and tugged and yanked and prayed. My legs were being cut off of any circulation or self esteem. I decided silence was the best option since this was ultra-embarrassing. I pretended to keep having fun. Took my shoe off again. Flicked a rolly poly. Then I noticed the second group of lunch kids had come out. Some friendly kids came by and talked to me. I feigned happiness and knowledge of first grade activities like kickball and cursive. I was cool until one of them went and told my older brother that his special sister was stuck in a tire. As soon as he came over to see me I burst into tears and panic. I knew if I milked this enough he would help me get out of trouble with my parents for skipping class at age 5. He gave me a sweaty matchbox car out of his pocket, that I traced along my shoe. Which I had given up on as a toy. He tried to rip me out and coax me toward the top, but I was not budging. The 2nd bell rang. My brother's conscience was tested. He did not want to leave his bawling afro sister with a matchbox car and purple legs, but he did not want my father to find out he hadn't gone in when the bell rang. So he went and got the Principal.

The Principal and the 4 burliest teachers my unfortunate Edmond school could muster sauntered out to the playground and all pulled at once to try to get me out. The Principal said "Eff this. Someone call 911"

Two and a half hours after my brilliant idea, a giant truck full of delicious firemen blared into the parking lot. They had to use the jaws of life to open the tire and rescue me. The jaws of life. Really. I had peed my pants, but was too scared to walk. So the Principal (I think his name was Mr. Deering?) put me on his shoulders, urine and all, to walk me back to class. I think this was in the hopes that we wouldn't sue him for his bobcat. (does anyone remember the principal having a bobcat or did I make this up?)

My dad always tells this story with the phone call he got "Mr. Flowers, your daughter is okay"....(which he knew meant I was NOT okay). Followed by a "She did, however, get her tiny five year old ass stuck in a tire".