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She walked into kindergarten alone on the second day.
Blonde ponytails swinging, big smile, three freckles on her nose.
Miss Thee, our teacher, asked her name.
Merry Dee Singlewary.

Surprisingly, she was on Miss Thee’s list,
But no one remembered seeing an extra name the day before.
Where did you come from? Miss Thee asked.
Space, said Merry Dee, cheerful and assertive-like.

Two of us looked up.
“Outer space?” I asked.
She smiled. Her pony tails bounced up and down.
“Yes,” she said.
She was in kindergarten with us until winter break.

Her coloring was beautiful, in the lines. No scribbles.
She loved pink playdough, pushing it into extravagant villages.
She was a master manipulator of the sand table.
We followed her around like puppies.  This is not your planet, Johnny told her.
We both laughed, and stuck our tongues out.

Friday December 18th there was a Christmas program.
Back in the 60’s we could use the word Christmas. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas.
Merry Dee was Mary. I was a lost sheep, probably because I scribbled all over my paper and my desk.
Which ones are Merry Dee’s parents? I heard Miss X, our hawk-nosed principal, ask Miss Thee.  
I have no idea, Miss Thee said. She always comes alone. I have never met them.

Merry Dee Singlewary hugged me so tight that night I thought my eyes would fall out of their sockets.
I hugged her back just as tight, and gave her a playful swat on her petootsie for good measure.
Back in the 60’s you could swat women on the bottom. Maureen O’Hara and John Wayne taught us that.
I watched Merry Dee walk away from that program alone, not realizing her parents were not there.
She was whistling and skipping, glad she was going to be whisked by space ship home to her own planet.

Moral of this story:  Merry Dee, We, Miss Thee
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