Carole-Jean Smith

When I was young, my first grade teacher was a legend in the school system. Miss Thomas was about 45 and had been teaching for many years. She ran a no-nonsense classroom where we all learned to read with Dick and Jane and Billy and Sally. But we also played games and did arts and crafts for the holidays. Miss Thomas was strict, but fair. Her classroom was a major joy of my six year old life. Miss Thomas never married because in those days female teachers were expected to focus all their emotional loyalty on their students. Common (though not universal) practice was to remove a teacher from her position if she got married. It was also an efficient way to keep women out of the job market in the post war years. But Miss Thomas was not deterred. She kept her hair dyed black, wore beautiful suits, and drove around town in a white Cadillac. I thought about Miss Thomas when I got my own first car (not a white Cadillac) and when I became a teacher and when I had children. And when I started writing poetry with the encouragement of other good teachers along the way, I thought about the blue lined paper she passed out to us every day to practice our handwriting strokes. What a beginning. Your shoulders, Miss Thomas.