All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten is a collection of essays written by minister Robert Fulghum, published in 1986. The 50 essays are all very short, ranging in length from a few hundred to about 1,000 words.

Fulghum begins by informing the reader that he wrote the essays over the course of years without any intention of publishing. He recounts seeing a bumper sticker in the midst of a snowstorm that read “Don’t Believe Everything That You Think,” and how these words struck him as a very powerful way of looking at your own existence, how you cannot assume that you yourself have any sort of innate wisdom or expertise.

He warns that he has used his imagination and creative license to adjust facts to suit his purpose, so none of the essays should be taken literally. In the Credo that begins the book proper, he states that he writes a statement of belief for himself every year. This credo began as a very lengthy list of things, but over the years became refined down to fundamentals. He realized that everything he truly needed to know or believe in had been passed down to him in kindergarten: Share everything, play fair, don’t hit people, put things back where you found them, etc. This opening essay is the most famous and oft-quoted in the collection.

After exploring these concepts in a bit more detail, Fulghum begins exploring other concepts. He considers the abacus, an ancient device for calculating numbers, and relates a story where a man went up against a computer with an abacus. The computer did the sums faster, but was inaccurate, and Fulghum concludes that there will always be a place for a beautiful, analog object like the abacus no matter how modern the world becomes.

Fulghum discusses the power of holidays, and ruminates in one essay that department stores serve as modern reminders of the holidays for many people. He contemplates the role that teachers, especially kindergarten teachers, play in making holidays seem magical to young children, and how teachers often have children make hand-crafted gifts for parents to celebrate. One of his prized possessions is the “gummy lump,” a gift made by one of his children with macaroni and gumdrops. The candy has melted, and the lump is "ugly" and sticky, but Fulghum has placed other gifts and keepsakes in the box, making it into a powerful reminder of what is good in his life—and everyone should have a gummy lump of their own.

Fulghum acknowledges that it is easy to believe that people are no good and that evil dominates, but he tells the story of James Brill, who performed an experiment in New York City. He pretended to not understand English and hired several dozen taxis, asking them to drive him a short distance. Only one taxi driver made an attempt to cheat him; the others were very helpful and often explained to him that he didn’t need a taxi to get where he was going. Fulghum suggests that any time we are tempted to be cynical about our fellow humans we should think of Brill.

Fulghum tells the story of a man who received a poor gift at an office Christmas party, and told everyone that he did not believe that it’s the “thought that counts.” Instead, the man argued that if the thought is good, the gift will be good as well. Surprisingly, Fulghum agrees. He tells the story of how he’s always wanted a certain funny wind-up toy, but realizes that this is actually about wanting his childhood back.

Fulghum tells the reader about the Haiho Lama. The Haiho Lama died in 1937 and should have been reincarnated, but the monks have yet to identify the next Haiho Lama. Fulghum believes it is a cobbler he knows named Elias Schwartz. Schwartz’s behavior matches the requirements for the Haiho Lama. Fulghum took shoes to Schwartz to be repaired; Schwartz told him the shoes were beyond saving, but took them anyway. When Fulghum got the shoes home he found two cookies had been inserted into them along with a note stating that “anything not worth doing is worth not doing well.” This impresses Fulghum as true wisdom.

Fulghum contemplates a dead end street he once lived on with his family. People often ignored the warning signs and drove right to the end of the street, then sat and seemed to be seeking a way to continue their trip. He once asked a psychiatrist why people did this, and the doctor told him that some people simply do not believe that rules and limitations apply to them—they believe that they will be able to find a way around obstacles, a way to go forward and to continue.