As a little girl, I struggled to learn to read. All of my classmates in kindergarten could. Every one of them. The teacher knew I could not even sound out the simple word C A T. When it was reading time, she would have some of the other kids read. She would then call on me in the middle of the story. The exciting part. We would find out if the CAT caught the RAT. I would look down on the pages and pray that I could figure out the words.
Kindergarten was a horrible time for me. I never told my parents how mean the teacher was. She did not try to help me, she only embarrassed me.
We moved to another state when it was time for first grade. The class of students was so large that we had three teachers. In the middle of the classroom was a sunk- in carpeted area where we sat for reading time. I remember feeling so sick, that one of the teachers rushed me to the bathroom. I prayed I would be so ill they would send me home. Instead, I confided in her that I could not read yet.
The look on her face was not mean. She smiled so sweetly, said not to worry. She took me back to my seat, walked over to the other teachers. She whispered something only they could hear. Reading time began, an I was not called on.
I learned to read that year. I learned to read and spell at the top of the class. If I could find those three wonderful women, I would hug and cry all over them. I would thank them for being so kind.
Their patience helped me and from there I took off reading words in my favorite books, in my children’s daily devotional, my little pink bible. Thank you for helping me, not harming, not judging, for your time and care.