I expected 2nd grade to be as bewildering as 1st because I had absolutely no idea what was going on. My 1st grade teacher was an ogre who beat me for every “F” (remember, this was 40 years ago), every allegedly obtuse comment, and every movement interpreted as overly awkward. I couldn't do math to save my life, my penmanship would make a doctor proud, and my desk looked like Pigpen’s. I got a LOT of beatings. About the only thing I liked were those good ole’ Dick and Jane books, as well as those now-repudiated SRA readers. So why should the next grade be any different?

I didn’t count on Miss H. She was young and vibrant and pretty, and I fell absolutely in love with her. She came to my desk with a merry smile, not a paddle. She showed me what I was doing wrong with addition, how to properly hold my pencil, and where all the papers were supposed to go. She never hit any of us. She treated us all like we were bright and special and smart. Wow.

You’d think that’d be enough, wouldn’t you? But that’s not the reason I hold her in the highest regard. No, she taught me how to read, and I mean really read. It all started with that now-vilified book, Tom Sawyer, from which she read us a chapter every day. I was fascinated by it, and, after she was done in the middle of the year, I asked her if I could read it. Did she respond, “This is too hard for you.”? No, she simply gave me her copy and asked me to look up words I didn’t know and discuss with her passages I didn’t understand. I read it through three times with her encouraging and urging me to understand more. By the end of 2nd grade – “the year of Miss H.” – I tested at a 7th grade reading level.

At the risk of being dramatic, I credit Miss H. with saving my life. She opened up worlds I did not know existed, and she completely changed my whole attitude towards school. I have not seen her since 3rd grade, when she left our town for some other place…. But, wherever you are, Miss H., thank you, thank you, thank you.

Dwight Allen, American University