Lessons From My 1st Grade Teacher

Mrs. Miller is sitting next to me along with my Mom and Grandmother.  I have no idea what occasion brought us all together.

I can admit it now, I was a total mess in the 1st grade.  I was that kid that had major anxiety and everyday, like clockwork, I ran to the bathroom to weep.  I was never sure why I was so emotional, but I do remember that my 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Miller, was always there to give me a pep talk so that I could get on with my day.

Despite my emotional ups and downs, I remember my first grade year fondly.  It was where I met my best childhood friend, Jason. It was where both Jason and I turned our playground into a whimsical wonderland where anything could be imagined, including the discovery of a dinosaur egg which ended up being a gourd.  It was also where I discovered a love of reading even though I was placed in the "low level" reader category and slogged my way through those color coordinated reading books that were a very important symbol of status back in those days.  To this day, I can attribute a lot of my successes in life to Mrs. Miller and our classroom volunteer, Mrs. Lindquist. Collectively, these two women taught me to read.

Mrs. Lindquist helping our class. I'm in the Arkansas shirt.

I'm sure it was no easy task for the two of them.  Surely, I was diagnosed with all kinds of disorders, but word was never mentioned of them.  Rather than focusing on what was wrong with me, they chose to focus on what was right and helped me to adapt to make up for what made me different.  I also forgot to mention that I was incredibly hyper.  I would have been the poster child for ADHD, but back then Mrs. Miller let me know my limits without ever getting angry.  She could get stern, but never angry.  It was through Mrs. Miller, that Mrs. Lindquist came into my life.  Imagine having your grandmother in class everyday? That's what it was like.  She would often work with me one on one and I even went to her house on Saturdays for special tutoring sessions which I loved, because if I did a good job, she would give me a cheap toy car as a present. I remember always coming in and seeing a little box wrapped up on the desk.  I just had to earn it, which admittedly I did not do 100% of the time and she would casually take the box off the desk for a future session.

For 18 years, I was a teacher and often looked to Mrs. Miller as an inspiration.  Recently, I was summoned back home due to a family emergency and learned that Mrs. Miller was in a retirement home in the area.  My dad works for a local pharmacy and often drives out there for deliveries and he said that Mrs. Miller asked about me often. I decided to go there for a visit, not really knowing what shape she was in or if she would even recognize me after all these years.  To me, she would always have the same glasses and red hair, tightly wound up in a bun.

After checking in with the front desk they directed me toward her room.  I knocked on her door and could hear that familiar sweet voice say that she was on her way.  When she opened the door, I discovered that the red hair was long gone, replaced by gray and it was down, not in a bun.  The one thing that remained the same was her welcoming smile.  At first, she thought I was making a delivery, but then after I said my name she threw her arms around me for a hug.  I'll admit, that with the craziness going on with my family, that hug felt so good!

Mrs. Miller and I holding up her retirement quilt

Mrs. Miller's room, much like my house is a museum to teaching.  All around her were reminders of her teaching career.  Notes, awards, and hundreds, yes hundreds of Raggedy Ann dolls.  Early on in her career, she had mentioned how much she loved Raggedy Ann and she received hundreds of various shapes and sizes during her 50 plus year career.

I sat with her for over an hour and she could recall my first grade class like it was yesterday.  She said that I was one of her most memorable students and that she always shared a story involving me to people through the years.  I figured it was some story about me crying.

We went on a special trip to a local farm and Mrs. Miller took me by the hand as we crossed through a cow pasture. When we got the edge, she leaned down and said to me "Michael, I am so proud of you for not stepping in that yucky stuff."  According to her, I looked around and gazed up at her and said "Mrs. Miller, is that cow shit?"  I vaguely recall an adult in back of us breaking out in laughter, but Mrs. Miller just looked at me and said "Yes it is Michael.  Yes it is."  She could have flown off the handle telling what a naughty word it was, but she didn't. She knew I meant no harm with my question.  It wasn't until I got home that my parents told me that it was not appropriate.  Without my knowledge, she had called my parents and told them of my language, but that I should not be punished for it.  According to her, I was simply a little boy who didn't know better.

I'm sure that we have our own Mrs. Miller to tell stories about.  I hope that as a teacher, I was a Mrs. Miller to a student in need. She was an continues to be a remarkable woman.