A Career is born

It was 1959 and my heavily drugged mother yelled out in the delivery room, “Thank God it’s a girl, I’m so sick of looking at penises!”  No self-respecting, pillbox hat wearing, Catholic mother in a Catholic hospital would yell out such a thing, but I was baby number 4, number 3 that survived childbirth and the first born girl.  I was a treasure she’d long awaited and the star of the family for a few short years.

 

About two years later my sister Susie arrived and on her heels Jeanine. The intruders are pictured above, I'm snuggled up next to my mom.  My princess crown slipped slightly as the sheer numbers increased but also because Susie had some special needs that my parents were alternately denying and embracing as parents do when faced with a cognitive disability.

My favorite activity with my parents remained sitting on their laps having them read me a book.  I’d evidently spent a fair amount of time doing this early on when I was the reigning princess that I never forgot how incredibly satisfying those moments were.  They became more and more rare as time went on and I can recall how sad I was about that at the ripe old age of about 3.

It seems like I spent eons watching my brothers leave for school, with me begging to be able to go, while my mom reassured me that I would be next…and best of all when I got there I would learn to read.  I was ecstatic. 

No more would I have to wait for someone to read me a book. 

I would have the special power to decode those exotic symbols that took me to places I’d never been, about people I’d never met, about experiences I never had.  I couldn’t imagine a greater power of any kind.

Fast forward an eternity later and I am finally standing in my first classroom at my Catholic school a little nervous about the nun whose veil hung to the floor as she quietly swooshed through the classroom of 25 eager 1^st graders.  She had us line up in the front of the classroom where we could clearly see the large alphabet hung above the blackboard.  She went down the line and pointed with her wooden pointer to each letter and then to one of us standing in that row to say the letter aloud.  The smell of fear suddenly overpowered the lovely first day smell of new crayons and freshly starched uniforms.

As my turn approached not only was I shaking in my newly purchased black and white saddle shoes, but as was my way, I wanted to throw up or pee my pants.  I did not know any of the letters and slowly watched as it got closer and closer to me being called upon.  Mortified I muttered a letter that someone had said a few try’s back and she kindly corrected me (thank GOD for her) and moved beyond me.

We performed a similar exercise with addition and as I heard people’s answers to her equations I searched through my limited data bank for patterns to help me when my name was called.  Again, I failed miserably (in my mind) as she gently told me the answer.  I know there were others that didn’t know the answers too, but on that day, in my mind, it was just me. 

I was furious when I arrived home even after walking the mile trek, all uphill of course.  I stormed in and announced, “I didn’t learn how to read today!!  I’m not going back!”  I tried to cover my shame with anger and vowed not to return. 

My mother took me into her arms and told me it takes a very long time to learn to read and that today was just a start.  I cried.  I told her why I was crying…because no one ever read me books anymore and all I wanted out of this school thing was to learn to read books. 

Through my hiccupped explanation she quietly listened and when I was done, she took a moment that I’m sure she could barely spare, sat me down on her lap, and read me a book.  She patiently pointed out letters and helped me begin to decode my first book.

My soul soared.

My job today is all around making sure no little person goes into school on the first day ecstatic to learn, and exits defeated at how little they know.  The early years are crucial to a child’s future success in school and the more information they have in their arsenal that first day, the more confident learner they are.  Studies show they actually are more likely to finish school, go beyond high school, and contribute to society in meaningful ways.

I hope it’s obvious that I did learn to decode just a little and that I can now scrap with the rest of them as I wrangle with words to explain why this is important.  My life’s work has been to create places for children and their parents from which to launch into kindergarten and beyond.

It may not seem so lofty,

but for a quivering little girl in saddle shoes,

it would have meant the world to have known just that one letter.