Dear Mrs. Hamilton,
It’s me, Garry.
I was in your third-grade class at Owens Elementary in 1960-61. I apologize for taking so long to write. The reason I am writing now is to thank you for doing such a great job teaching me and my classmates. And now I know enough to appreciate your work, especially since you did not have the advantages that teachers today have.
You taught us our multiplication tables, and when you were sure we had mastered them up through times 12 (because you lined us up and then we had to recite them out loud), you taught us short and long division. You brought us far in spelling too, and you made our spelling practice a competition so we could develop confidence in our ability. I remember the hours you spent teaching us to write in long hand. There were other lessons too—reading, science, social studies, art, and music.
We learned citizenship, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance at the start of each day, and you led us in our “duck and cover” drills as part of civil defense training in that Cold War time of our history. You taught us hygiene when you inspected our hands to be sure we came to school clean. With the school nurse, you taught us proper technique for brushing our teeth (up and down like an aeroplane, back and forth like a choo-choo train). On picture day, when one little boy came to school in a raggedy shirt, you sent me home (we lived right next to the school) to ask my mom if I could lend him one of my shirts. Little Jimmy seemed very happy to wear my plaid flannel shirt for our pictures that day. I learned about compassion from you then.
Now I wonder how you did it all. You had no computer, no IEP’s, no common core standards; you probably never even heard of differentiated instruction, or benchmarks. And without federally-mandated, state-endorsed, district-implemented standardized tests, I wonder how you ever knew whether you were doing a good job. I don’t know if the Charleston, West Virginia school district considered you to be a highly qualified teacher—I just know you did a great job. Even an eight-year-old could tell that. You not only made sure we weren’t left behind, you made sure we got ahead.
Even though it’s taken me over 50 years to thank you, I want you to know that I still remember much of what you taught me. The skills I acquired in your classroom still serve me every day. Your example still serves as a guide to my behavior. You helped me become the person I am now. If you are living somewhere in retirement now, I hope your days are rich with memories of the children you taught. Maybe you even remember the kid from Mississippi who lived for a brief time in the trailer park across the school-yard fence. If you’ve passed on already, I pray your heavenly reward is rich in proportion to the lives you touched as a schoolteacher.
Signed,
Garry
Garry Breland 