The first year of teaching is full of experiences - events indellibly etched in our minds forever. This is one of mine.
The late September sun beat down on the oil-soaked dirt playground at McKinley Elementary School. It was afternoon and I was dutifully leading my sixth grade class out for physical education - a vigorous game of volleyball. It was hot but my students were enthusiastic and threw themselves into the competition as I stood at the net and kept score.
I noticed that one of the girls was wearing a knee-length coat (I'll call her Theresa). I was just getting to know my students and of course I had quickly learned the habits and attitudes of the boisterous, the overachievers, and the recalcitrant. But Theresa was so quiet and meek that I hadn't gotten to know her.
"Theresa. You have got to be roasting. Do you want me to hold your coat while you play?" I asked as I wiped sweat from my own brow.
"She never takes it off!" piped one of the other girls. Theresa timidly shook her head in answer to my question.
"Okay. Side out. Nine to seven." I decided not to press the issue at that time.
Later, I met with the school counselor to discuss Theresa. I knew that abused children often hide bruises or marks by wearing coats + even in warm weather. My greatest concern was that this little girl was a victim. Mrs. Stanhope smiled and told me that I was not the first to report the issue of Theresa's coat. The previous year she had investigated and found that an elderly grandmother was raising Theresa and her two brothers. Social security did not cover school clothes or supplies. To hide the fact that she had to wear the same dress to school everyday, Theresa chose to wear her coat.
For several days I wondered how I could help without embarrassing her. Then, I had what as a first-year-teacher I thought was a brilliant plan. I asked Theresa to see me after class. I told her that I was starting a secret drawing once a month from among all the students who had perfect conduct in class. This month she was the winner. She smiled as I presented her with an envelope containing a crisp, new, twenty-dollar bill. (This was 1966 and Jackson got around a little more than he does today). After she left, I smiled to myself as I imagined her picking out several new dresses.
But the next day as I opened the door to let my class in there was Theresa in the long coat. I managed to stifle my curiosity until recess. "Theresa, did you buy anything with your prize?"
"Uh-huh," she nodded. "I got my grandma a picture frame, my brothers tee-shirts, and a notebook and colored pencils for me."
"Why a notebook and colored pencils?"
"Because I like to write and draw pictures. I'm making my own book."
I don't know if Theresa grew up to be an author and illustrator but I do know how much a notebook and colored pencils meant to her that year.
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