First Grade

First grade is a place I still remember. I cannot, unlike any other grade, remember my teacher. I can’t visualize her or remember her name. She may have even been a man.

I remember that the girls could read. The words flowed off their tongues. It was like breathing, just natural for them.

I was a little different. I have been told that I talked late as a tyke. My folks had concerns about my alleged mind. However they were relieved when I spoke in full sentences as I began to speak. Wouldn’t it be great if somehow we could all learn foreign languages by osmosis, as we did when were that size?

So as you may have guessed, reading in first grade was pretty much beyond my grasp. The height of embarrassment was if I had to follow a girl in my reading to the class. It was so unpleasant that at 75 I still remember the feeling.

If my first grade teacher were still alive and limping through her triple digit age, I think she would be surprised that I blog and wrote a few self-published books.