Letter to my first grade teacher...

Ms. Reidel,

You probably don't remember me, but I remember you. You were the lady that hated me for bringing extra work into the classroom. You discouraged me from getting ahead and enriching myself with knowledge beyond the endeavors of the classroom.

Way to go, lady--you were irritated by one of your brightest pupils for bringing in workbooks from home, despite the fact that my work from home in no way kept me from doing the work assigned to me in the classroom.

You went out of your way to isolate me as the know-it-all of the class. When you called us up to do problems on the board, Andy and Becca got stuff like 6+7 and 15-6. I got 375+189. I would thank you for trying to challenge me in the classroom, but the smirk on your face when you sent me to the board kind of gave away that you were trying to stump me, not encourage me.

Well, it didn't work. I completed my 3 digit addition problems in the same time it took every other student to perform counting addition. I didn't do it to build myself up or bring my peers down--I did it to spite you and the principal of the school.

The way I was accepted was a reflection of the exact problem with mid-western education. I doubt that my treatment was a product of malice, but it was, without a doubt, a sign that the Seneca County schools of Ohio in the late eighties had no idea of what to do with a student that needed some extra work.

Yes, extra work. That's all I ever asked for. Teach me simple multiplication. Teach me what that crazy sign means when you have one number outside of the other one with that bracket like thing. Teach me that in a triangle, "width x height x 1/2 = area". That's all I wanted--to learn stuff I didn't know.

Sorry, Anne. I guess I had to get all that stuff off my back. We've haven't spoken since I was 5, so those feelings have been rolling in me since the spring of 1989. I take some of it back, actually. I know you guys were between a rock and a hard place. You and the principal both wanted to place me in 2nd grade halfway through the term, but my mom wouldn't allow it.

I wonder if you're still teaching. If you were 35 when I was in your classroom, you're 53 now. I suppose that means there's a good chance you're still around. If that's the case, I hope the 18 additional years of experience have made you a little more mild to your more eccentric students. I hope you've gotten more joy out of seeing one of your pupils excel. I would imagine it's one of the most rewarding things about being a teacher.

Despite the rant in my opening, I want to say thank you. Even with my hectic home life that year and Melmore Primary's awkwardness in dealing with me, you set me up as a rogue, as an intellectual outlaw that was dangerous to the other students around him. I rather liked that label; that persona. It was as much fame as I could want as a five-year-old, and despite the alienation I felt from my peers, the fame was addictive. I liked it so much that I brought my attitude to Canandaigua, NY when mom and I moved.

I continue on the same course today--a collegiate deserter with a somewhat overinflated ego and a penchant for defying standard protocol. You helped this part of me develop, Anne, and without it I'd never be the same. Your attitude toward me hardened my resolve to spite those who would try to hold me back, a trait I would desperately need in order to face down the plans of my 2nd grade teacher.

I hope that you were as inspirational to your other students as you were to me. You taught me to stand proud--to assert my intellect, no matter how hostile the environment seemed. Whether or not your intentions were benevolent at the time, the lasting effect of our interactions is still present. Thanks again for everything.

--Joe