It’s a Heart Change

I can recall vividly my first day of school as a first grader. My family had just moved to  southeast Portland. The yard was immense to my six year old person. Huge fir trees and overgrown brush abounded in that lot. Little did I know that the brush was poison oak; soon I was covered with the itchy rash. Mom used a smelly brown ointment to help the nearly intolerable itching.

I’ll never forget first grade. Because of that poison oak, I had to start school two weeks late. My brother, Roger, walked me to school and introduced me to my teacher. As we entered the classroom, we heard the hum of children’s voices settling down for their day of learning. I was excited but nervous. At last, I’d be able to read! I loved hearing stories and even pretended I could read to my little sister, Eileen. My young teacher, Miss Haug, was probably in the first year of her job. She greeted me with a frown instead of a welcoming smile.

I proudly showed her my supplies. There was a Big Chief writing tablet, bright red with a black headdress of an Indian chief on the front, and two bright orange pencils with white lines on the ridges. I was so proud of them.

“You won’t be able to use those pencils,” Miss Haug said, her voice rising with impatience. “You’ll need to get a primary pencil.” I was crushed. I loved those orange pencils! I took one and broke it in half. “Why did you do that?” she scolded.

“I don’t know,” I said tearfully. Deep down, I did know why: I was angry. I didn’t get to do what I wanted to.

“Well, never mind. Here,” she said impatiently, “you can sit next to Bonnie.” I placed my things on the desk next to a dark-haired, brown-eyed girl who looked up at me from her seat with a smile. At last, I was in first grade. I’d learn how to read and write. And someday, I’d get to use that orange pencil! It would be years before I learned to tame my stubborn streak. (From Beyond Second Chances: Heartbreak to Joy).