Years ago my husband received a gift T-shirt that said, “Thank a Teacher.” Since it was too large, he offered the T-shirt to me and I have used it as summer sleepwear ever since. And every time I slip the worn-out shirt over my head, I think of the teacher whose name I cannot remember. A woman at Alger Elementary School in Grand Rapids taught me to read and I’ve never stopped.
No small thing, to give someone a skill they use every day. And although I cannot recall her name, I can see her classroom—the little wooden desks and chairs—and the Dick and Jane readers we used.
I know they’ve been discredited and replaced, those old readers, but I thought they were wonderful. Not because the stories were exciting or the characters convincing, but because on those pages—for the very first time—I got it that letters made sounds, made words.
It may be the only genuine epiphany I have ever had and I still feel the sense of discovery and joy. These kinds of discoveries are happening in classrooms today, of course, and in other places as well. Whatever their names, I thank the teachers.