My world ended when I was told I was going back to Kindergarten. My days we’re already split in half, and I like first grade better then kindergarten. I liked my teacher. I liked my friends. I hated kindergarten. The teacher was meh and that one girl was rude. I asked my teacher why she was doing this and cried.

“I thought you’d be happy,” she said. “You’re struggling in this class. You need to go back to kindergarten. It’ll be better for you to have full days in kindergarten.”

“You are wrong!” I curled my little hands into fists. “You’re wrong.”

It didn’t matter, I got stuck in kindergarten anyway.

A couple years later I moved to Oregon. I was still very bad at Writing and Reading. The

teachers there took me out of class into a small classroom setting. In the classroom was around 7

kids and one teacher and one teacher’s aide. We called her Mrs. C. Mrs. C. was very obtuse and

gave warm hugs. She smelled like sunshine and have a great, big smile. We all started at the very

beginning, learning our ABC’s.

In my regular class the kids would always tease me for not knowing how to spell my own

name in 3rd grade. I spelled Hannah Shith instead of Hannah Smith and I was Hannah Shith for

the rest of the year. Every day for two hours I would go into Mrs. C’s classroom and everything

would be perfect. I wasn’t stupid, I knew stuff. I was smart, even. No one made fun of me. Even

one of the cute boys chased me around at Recess!

I started to be able to read the word a and then the then and, and it just kept going from

there. Suddenly I could recognize good, bad, love, hate. I knew what was up. I knew sometimes I

would feel down. But I could read. Not only that, but I could write. I suddenly loved to write. If

someone was mean to me, I could write it down and I would start to feel better. If I was happy, I

could make up a crazy story about my happiness.

My anxieties diminished. I could feel myself begin to glow and I really loved that feeling.

Every day I couldn’t wait to go to Mrs. C’s class and learn. For the first time I was smart and I

wanted to learn. Maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. I felt like I was, though. Mrs. C

made me feel smart. She cared about me.

Without her I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t have wrote a novel called “My Life Is

Bursting into Flames” intended for a fifth grade audience. I wouldn’t be able to write anything. I

would have never conquered dyslexia, and I owe Mrs. C everything. Mrs. C was the best teacher

in the world because she cared and believed a 7 year old girl could overcome her trials of being

unable to understand written English. To all the teachers who care and believe in their students,

Thank You.