I just read a post over at Diane’s Stuff in which she talked about her terrible mean 1st grade nun teachers, and she wondered if it had anything to do with her personality now. It reminded me of my own first grade horror story:

I was the youngest of five children, and my dad was a traveling musician, so we moved around a lot. Because of that, and that Kindergarten was optional back then, my mother didn’t send me. I started in the first grade. For some reason, maybe because she had 5 kids and was just tired… or maybe she just didn’t think about it… I don’t know, my mother didn’t prepare me for 1st grade. I couldn’t read or write, I didn’t know the alphabet, I couldn’t even write my own name. The other kids in class either learned these things from kindergarten or from their parents.

My first 1st grade teacher was a mean witch. I remember the second day of 1st grade, the teacher had us get out our writing tablets and told us to write the alphabet. Embarrassed as the other kids were happily writing, I sat with my head down and scribbled… sprirals, circles, zigzags, anything to take up time. The teacher saw me and came to stand beside my desk. She asked me what I thought I was doing. Scared, I just shrugged. She said I told you to write the alphabet. She took the top sheet of paper off and told me to start again. I just sat there with my head down, getting really nervous. She said it louder… “START AGAIN.” I began to scribble again. She told me to stop, told me write my name. I scribbled. By now the entire class was lookng at me. The teacher said, “YOU CAN’T WRITE?” and her voice was angry. I didn’t say a word, kept my head down. Then she said, “YOU CAN’T SPEAK EITHER? ARE YOU STUPID?” This last thing was yelled and caused every child in the class to laugh at me. I will never, never, NEVER forget this entire episode. I went home crying and told my mom what happened. I don’t remember what she said, but two days later I was in a new school.

My new teacher was told in advance that I couldn’t write or read. On the first day in this new school, when it was time for the other students to practice writing, she took me to a quiet corner that was kind of behind a small bookshelf, to a table there, where the other kids couldn’t see or hear us, and she quietly began to teach me. Every day, during writing and reading time, she took me back there and taught me. She did this not until I was caught up, but until I was well past the writing and reading level of the other students. This teacher only had kind words for me… for all the students. This teacher had a giant (seemed giant to me) Grimms Fairy Tale book that was hers as a child, and she kept it in the classroom for her students to look at. She told us often to remember that this was the only book that we weren’t allowed to take out of the classroom. On the last day of school, as we anxiously lined up by the door at the end of the day waiting on the last bell to ring, she called me to her desk and gave me that book. She told me to take it home, she wanted me to keep it. I thanked her and quietly went to the end of the line, where another student saw me and tried to tell on me for taking “the book.” She smiled and said that I had permission.

I will always remember this teacher, and her name… Mrs. Swearingon. But ya know, I can’t remember that other teacher’s name for the life of me. I can’t even remember her face. Kudos to all the Mrs. Swearingons out there!