Third Grade

     My third grade teacher was Mrs. Miller. She was young, tall, brunette with a Mary Tyler Moore flip in her hair. She was a Yankees fan, and she let us know that from the very first day. We all became Yankees fans too. Googling the 1961 World Series today, I see that the Yankees beat the Reds - so I guess that explains all the excitement in the room at the beginning of the school year.

     I liked Mrs. Miller a lot. One memory that has always stuck with me is the afternoon the class lined up to go somewhere, and the teacher asked for a volunteer to stay in the room with her to decorate the Christmas tree. We all raised our hands, and Mrs. Miller picked me! There was no special reason to choose me out of all the other kids – I was a random choice, and I knew that, and yet I have never forgotten that Mrs. Miller picked me.

     We had a delightful time trimming the tree together, and I asked her about Santa Claus. She was non-committal on that one.

     My grades got better that year, and more confidence in my academic abilities seemed to come along at the same time.

     Third grade is also remembered fondly because I had a boyfriend. He had red hair and freckles and seemed to like me too. We wrote love letters to each other, and I guess that was a pretty big deal because all our parents thought that was sweet, and Mrs. Miller encouraged the letter-writing. Mom kept two of the notes stashed away with my report cards all these years – and now I have them – one letter is written inside a pencil-drawn heart with an arrow going through it – inside it says “I like you very much! Do you like me?”

Love Letter from Third Grade

     It is probably scandalous to admit to, even after all this time, but secretly, I had a crush on someone else - the bad boy in the class! I don't remember if he behaved badly, or if it was his dangerous look that made me think of him as the bad boy. He was the new kid in town with no apparent friends and no appearance of wanting to have any friends. He was quiet and turned away from any attention. His hair came down to his eyes, and he gave the impression of brooding. It gave me a bit of a thrill to be attracted to him

     After third grade, the bad boy moved away – never to be seen or heard from again. But I had seen that I was capable of being untrue to the boy who had written me love letters.

     While my confidence in academics was growing, the thought that any boy could ever like me slipped away. After third grade I became gawky around guys. Forever.

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