It was first grade and my teacher was unkind so when she yelled at me I just shut down and the teacher knew phonics and math and how to get us to line up straight and who she actually liked the ones who were with it the ones who remembered their lunch money and knew how to ask for help and I wandered often alone and I wondered blissfully alone and everyone thought it was a problem my family too my family too and in school a lot was hard my papers my bookbag my pencils and crayons and this is how I learned that being perfect was expected even though no one ever said that and I struggled in school and everyone just let me and what I wanted was to be seen and praised for the things I could do which were many and made me myself things that might have made me stand out instead of wear down and what I wanted was for someone to tap my shoulder, tap my talent, name these things and what I wanted was to be beheld with love at school to be watered and nurtured and grown like the tallest sunflower and it was first grade and I loved to ride my pink banana seat bike and watch The Muppet Show and Family Feud that’s all I was a kid and I wanted to create and I thought I’d be a movie star one day
After Jose Olivarez's “ode to the first white girl I ever loved”
Such a rich prose poem... a window into the innocence and the fears of young children in first grade. I wrote about first grade in an essay that helped me name those similar feelings. How precious is the work of teachers...how hard all leaders must work to make room for teachers to do their best with every child. Thanks for this reminder.
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