I Go to School: Autobiogrphy of Kit Moss

Valinda Elementary Scchool, La Puente, CA

The next part of this story is my elementary school.  You can see it above.  It sort of looks familiar and sort of doesn't but given it's probably at least 60 years old, that's no mystery.

My first teacher was Mrs. Barcalow, a kindergarten teacher.  I don't remember a lot from that class.  There was a fat girl who used to punch people.  The principal once brought us all real orange juice Popsicles.  I remember there was one of those Brio train sets.

My first grade teacher was Miss Dorius.  She divided us up into three reading groups, Chocolate, Strawberry and Vanilla.  I was pissed when I was not in Chocolate.  I had a crush on a boy, my first time, and once kissed him on the arm.  He had beautiful eyes.  The less said about the teacher's reaction the better.  I remember the Dick and Jane reader with that little asshole Sally.  I did not like them.  I once took my toy Calico Cat and Gingham Dog my mother made me for show and tell.  I brought the dog another time and insisted it was a horse.  I used to daydream my mother was the teacher.

My second grade teacher was Miss Rose Cotton.  She had breasts out to here, and the fathers of the kids loved her.  I just didn't see it.  She also taught the summer school with one other teacher.  We did things with paper plates and sand, but I don't remember what.

I do remember Paul Grenier.  We played Roy Rogers endlessly.  I remember when recess was over we would ride our "horses"  back to class to the strains of "Happy Trails to You".  Joel, the boy who was the bad guy, always rode away when I approached him.  I wish I could tell you Paul once kissed me, but for reasons I cannot divulge, he didn't.   I guess you can say I pretended he did when I asked him on the school bus what he thought I should be when I grew up, and he said "A ghost!"  Paul had had polio, wore a brace on one leg, and I heard he died not long after we moved away.

That summer we moved to Juneau, Alaska.   My father got a job with the Department of Personnel at the State of Alaska.  I remember drawing a picture of what I thought my new home would look like, complete with igloo.

Not my original drawing.

I Am Born: An Autobiography of Kit Moss

U.S. Naval Ammunition Depot, 1952

I decided one technique for accepting oneself as male is to rewrite one's life as a boy and man.  I plan to start this on this blog with the birth of Christopher Hawthorne Moss on January 3, 1952, in Hawthorne, Nevada.

 Kit's parents, Merle and Louis, had one daughter already, Denise, who always was a bit perplexed by her little brother. He was cute but cried a great deal, given that he had colic.  His mother put whisky in his bottle of milk to help him sleep.  Heaven only knows what affect that had on him.

His family moved away from Hawthorne when he was only five months old.  His dad had gotten involved with one of the officer's wives at the Navy facility where the man worked.  They moved back to Los Angeles, California, where his mother had grown up and his father had moved in the late 1940s after his years in World War II.

There are stories I can tell you about Kit before his family moved to La Puente, CA, and I will.  But for now, let's just look at some of the photos I can find of this sharp little boy.