All Thanks to a Teacher

Her parents read to her every night before bedtime. They would change their voices to suit the characters in the story. It seemed to the little girl, her parents actually became the characters they were reading about.

Her parents made the little girl laugh, but she never thought they were silly. After all, they were bringing story characters to life! The little girl began to unintentionally memorize her favorite stories. Her parents realized this and regularly would stop reading so she could finish the sentence. She always used a silly voice herself to finish a sentence, much to her parents' delight.

Following kisses and hugs 'goodnight' from her parents - and, of course, prayers - The girl would drift off to sleep, often thinking about her bedtime story and make up a new ending for it or add a fun character to it.

At bedtime she would sometimes tell her parents a story. She would make them up in her head, remember them, and tell them. She had not yet started school and could not read or write. At the time, children were not encouraged to learn to read - or even write their name - because it was believed it would 'spoil' their school learning experience.

As years passed, the girl started school and fell in love with the so-called learning experience. But it was not until her family moved to a lovely Cape Cod home in the suburbs from her cozy little apartment in the Bronx that her creative bent totally emerged... all thanks to her teacher, Miss Marks.

Miss Marks was a dramatic change from the nuns in the Catholic school where she first learned her ABCs. The girl entered her new public school with enormous trepidation.

It was already the middle of the morning when she first entered Miss Marks third grade classroom, and the school year had started over a week ago. She was a latecomer; the new kid from 'the city.'

Miss Marks, though, greeted her warmly, introduced her by name to the class and walked her to the desk where she would sit. The girl felt the eyes of her new classmates fixed on her as she and her unfamiliar teacher wearing street clothes walked to the desk.

She immediately folded her hands in front of her, staring straight ahead, just the way she was taught at her old school in the Bronx, Blessed Sacrament School. She became the new kid from the city.

Although her new teacher exuded warmth, was enthusiastic, patient, and sympathetic, the girl felt like a misfit. She didn't know anyone, she had no friends and believed her Friday tuna fish sandwiches tucked in the bookbag her mom made her carry, smelled up the classroom.

But she had come to public school third grade more advanced than most students in her class. Her reading level was probably that of a sixth grader or better, was already writing with a fountain pen in script, spelled perfectly, knew where states and countries were located on a map, and could write compound sentences.

And at home, she had a complete set of encyclopedias, as well as parents who believed girls should have as much education as possible. They expected her to attend college...and graduate.

They also encouraged her creativity. They even read all of her book reports. One time, the girl's mom - ever the grammarian and punctuation pontiff - chided her about a report she wrote after reading a biography about Helen Keller. "That's IT," was her mother's response to the report. "That's ALL you can write about a person who can't see and can't hear? Where's the passion, the courage, the description," the mom asked, adding, "I know you can do better!"

The girl rewrote the book report.

Miss Marks took a special interest in the girl's writing, especially when she wrote a rhyming poem instead of using regular sentences for a writing assignment. For whatever reason, the girl didn't fear there would be repercussions or punishment for not following directions. She was getting used to public school alright.

Miss Marks said the poem was creative and told the girl she would teach her about how poetry is structured. And she did just that during down times in the classroom.

Miss Marks also encouraged the girl to write stories and suggested books to read. Many of the girl's poems and stories were funny and Miss Marks would sometimes read them to the class. The girl did not mind. She was gradually evolving from a fearful, rigid, self-conscious, embarrassed child from 'the city,' into a bright, somewhat confident, fun third grader.

As the school year was coming to a close, the girl felt wistful. She would be moving to 'middle school,' a new building and worst of all...leaving Miss Marks.

Miss Marks felt the same about the girl and told her she would miss her. She asked the girl to write to her at the school and asked her to please send her poems and stories. The teacher told her student that she needed to keep writing because she was good at it. "You can be a real writer. In fact, you already are," she said.

I may have left Miss Marks's classroom as my schooling continued, but Miss Marks has stayed with me until this day. Of all the adults, including my parents, their friends and mine who had a positive impact on my young life, my third-grade teacher had the greatest impact of all.

To be a 'real' writer was my earliest dream, became my vocation, my profession and is at the core of my being. Following a long, wonderful and amazing career as a journalist and editor, I'm still at it, as I sit here today with you, my fellow writers. Let's dream on together.