Another school year has begun. Millions of young Americans are back in the classroom and I’m glad I’m not one of them.

Don’t get me wrong; I didn’t hate school. I just wasn’t a big fan of being cooped up in a classroom all day. When asked what I most wanted out of school, I said: “Me.”

That said, I had some excellent teachers. One teacher, however, stands out in my memory. That was my second-grade teacher, Miss Caudle.

Miss Caudle was kind. She was pleasant. She was smart. And in this second grader’s eyes, she was pretty.

Seven and eight-year-old boys are too young to understand feminine allure but you don’t have to understand it to appreciate it.

She was pretty but it wasn’t just her physical features that made her attractive; it was the kind and pleasant way she treated us. In first grade, I had been yelled at and made to stand my chubby frame in the corner for talking too much and other assorted infractions. No such problems in second grade. I was still chubby and talkative, but Miss Caudle simply told me to be quiet and I shut up (most of the time).

Our school used the Alice and Jerry reading primers in our classroom. I loved reading and I enjoyed the adventures of Alice and Jerry, but I most enjoyed our little reading circle when Miss Caudle instructed a half dozen of us children at a time.

I especially enjoyed when she wore a crinoline petticoat under her dress while teaching us. You can “tsk, tsk” all you want, but most second-grade boys notice those things. I think it has something to do with our chromosomes.

Miss Caudle attempted to teach her 20-some little nose-pickers good grooming habits and each day checked us over to be sure we were clean and well-groomed. It was at the time of year for helping my mother husk walnuts and one day my fingers were stained from the process. My heart was broken when my teacher pointed out the stains. That night I scrubbed with Dad’s Lava® soap.

I will be showing my age when I tell you that the Christmas gift we students made for our mothers that year was a sprinkling can (as in sprinkling your freshly dried laundry to keep it moist for ironing). Back then you could purchase soft drinks in a can with a cone-shaped top that was sealed with a conventional bottle cap.

Miss Caudle helped us paint the can, apply artistic decals and insert a cork-lined sprinkler head into it. I remember the pride I had when my mother opened that gift.

It wasn’t until years later that I came to appreciate an insightful move by Miss Caudle. The class recited a brief table grace before we were dismissed for lunch. We were a homogenous group of little white Protestants.

After the table grace one of the girls — the only Catholic in the class — crossed herself. We little Protestant kids wanted to know what she was doing and asked out loud. Miss Caudle explained that the sign of the cross was an expression of our classmate’s faith and then asked the student to tell the rest of us what it meant to her. Case closed. No more questions and a few of the other students began crossing themselves as well.

My time in Miss Caudle’s classroom was cut short when my family moved to another town in late January that year.

Life went on, but I always remembered Miss Caudle. About a dozen years ago I met an older woman at a book signing and discovered that she was a sister of Miss Caudle. I asked about my former teacher and learned she had married and moved to California decades earlier.

My new acquaintance shared her sister’s address, so I wrote Miss Caudle a letter expressing my appreciation for her and for the great memories she had given me. I enclosed a copy of a book I had written a short time earlier to prove I really had learned something in her classroom. She responded with a gracious note.

To all the teachers beginning a new school year: thank you for what you do and for who you are. To some student, you are a Miss Caudle who will be fondly remembered for the rest of their life.

Arvid Huisman can be reached at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2024 by Huisman Communications.