Loved Miss Green

 Miss Green

Miss Green was my favorite teacher ever. She knew I had failed first grade the year before, and she wasn’t about to let it happen again.

A week or two into the school year, the bell rang at the end of class, and as everyone gathered their things, Miss Green called out, “Larry, can I see you for a minute?”

I walked up to her desk, unsure of what to expect.

“What subject do you like best?” she asked.

“Arithmetic,” I answered without hesitation.

She smiled. “Would you like to stay after school and talk about arithmetic?”

I hesitated. “I have to catch the bus.”

“You can take the late bus,” she said. “I can call your mother and see if it’s okay.”

That was good enough for me. “Okay.”

“You can go now,” she said. “We’ll see about tomorrow.”

When I got home, Mom was already in the know. She asked if I liked Miss Green.

I think I loved Miss Green. But all I said was, “Yes.”

Mom told me I could take the late bus the next day, and that made me happier than I could explain. There wasn’t much to do at home, and spending extra time with Miss Green felt like a treat—she was so kind, so patient.

I don’t remember exactly when the after-school sessions ended, but they didn’t last long. What I do remember is that, for the rest of the school year, I never took my eyes off Miss Green when she spoke. And I always, always paid attention.

Would you love to hear more of these childhood misadventures?