THE NEW SCHOOL YEAR meant changes once again. At the end of the summer, the twenty of us who had occupied the Ogden Circle house moved into a new, slightly larger house on Elmer Drive, just a few blocks away from our previous address.
Because of the yearlong gap in my education when I was living in Mexico and sporadic school attendance in the States, I started at Stukey Elementary School as a third grader. Even though I was about a year older than everyone in my class, I didn’t mind that when I met Mrs. Klitsner.
Mrs. Klitsner was tall and slender. She walked gracefully with smooth and careful steps, and her voice was soft and gentle. She had long, dark auburn hair, which contrasted beautifully with her fair skin and freckles.
I adored my teacher and obsessed over everything about her —how she dressed, how she styled her hair, and even how she smelled. I had always craved attention and approval from all of my teachers, but Mrs. Klitsner soared far above the rest. She was patient with me and motivated me when the work seemed overwhelming and I wanted to quit. Somehow she knew when I needed a hug and kind words of encouragement.
Though I could always read well above my grade level, I was behind in math, science, and history. My education with its starts and stops was like a tangled pile of yarn that stuck out every which way, instead of being a tightly wrapped ball. Being a strong reader with excellent comprehension saved me, allowing me to manage fairly well in subjects I wasn’t familiar with. Mrs. Klitsner helped me when I didn’t understand things —sometimes very basic concepts —that I should have known. She brought out strengths and abilities in me I never knew I had. And because of that, I worked harder in her class than I ever had in any other. I was determined to earn her approval.
I loved books, especially the ones by Beverly Cleary and The Boxcar Children series. Another favorite was Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls. It was difficult to read the last chapter of that book because I was bawling my eyes out. At times, I’d open it up and reread the last few chapters just so I would cry. I believe I was grieving things in my personal life that I didn’t realize needed grieving. The act felt therapeutic. The days when the “Reading Is Fundamental” cart came to our room were my favorites —I got to return the book I’d been reading and borrow a new one!
Construction paper cutouts of the planets dotted our classroom wall. Every time a student finished reading a book, Mrs. Klitsner moved his or her name to the next planet closest to the sun —the ultimate goal. One boy, a fast reader, always had his name ahead of mine. I wanted to pass him because I wanted to be the first one to reach the sun to please my teacher. I never did get ahead of my competitor, but this little game helped me learn about the planets.
When we studied Colorado state history and read about the Indians who lived in the southwest corner of the state, we got to make biscuits like the Indians did. Since I was constantly hungry, I grabbed the biggest biscuit, much to the dismay of my classmates.
At recess, I loved to play tetherball —and I was good at it. Being taller than the other kids gave me an advantage, and I won a lot. On the swings, we would go really high and then jump off, trying to outdo one another. The monkey bars presented a challenge: If your hand slipped and you fell, your turn was over. I was so determined to swing from bar to bar that I practiced over and over until my hands became blistered and raw. I always made it across without falling.
There was a boy who liked me and showed his affection by drawing me a picture of a Denver Broncos helmet. Then we started “going together,” and he occasionally walked me home from school.
The highlight of my need for approval came during a school assembly when I received the Stukey Elementary Student of the Month award. I knew Mrs. Klitsner had nominated me and possibly even argued my merits to her fellow teachers. Just thinking about her confidence in me made me want to try even harder in her class. I couldn’t get over seeing my name on the fancy-looking certificate.
After school, I ran ahead of my siblings and the rest of the kids to get home as fast as I could. I burst through the door and shouted, “Celia! Celia! You’ll never guess what happened today!”
She hurried into the living room from the kitchen. “You got a hundred on your spelling test?”
“No. Better.”
I held up the cream-colored certificate and shouted, “I’m the Student of the Month! Mrs. Klitsner nominated me. Can you believe it?”
Later that night when Mom came home from work, I showed her my certificate. Her jaw dropped in mock disbelief and then her lips slowly curled into a huge smile. She pulled me close to her in a giant hug. “It doesn’t surprise me at all. You’re a wonderful student —so kind and obedient and hardworking.” She stood back, pushed up her glasses that had slipped down her nose, and read the certificate. “I’m so proud of you, Anna. Here, this honor deserves another hug.”
I buried my face in her chest, smelling the Oil of Olay cream she used, the only luxury she allowed herself. I smiled and sighed, contented and secure.
Another reason I loved going to school was for the food. All of the kids in our family qualified for free lunches. While other students may have turned up their noses at the cafeteria food, it seemed like a gourmet meal to me, much better than I ever got at home. I especially loved the pint cartons of whole milk. At home, we had only powdered milk, which Mom would overly dilute to make it go further. The whole milk I got at school was rich and creamy, so I thought I could replicate it at home with powdered milk by adding less water. But instead of being rich and creamy, my concoction was thick and lumpy and made me gag.
One lunchtime I had finished my milk, and when a girl I was sitting with was about to throw her unopened carton away, I asked her if we could swap cartons. I couldn’t bear the thought of that perfectly good milk going to waste. The cafeteria monitor saw me trading food with another student, which was against the rules, and sent me to a table with the other “troublemakers.” I was horrified and humiliated at having to eat there. That was the one and only time I got into trouble at school.
At one point during the year, the cafeteria kitchen was being remodeled, so Mrs. Klitsner sent me home with a note to my mom, saying I needed to bring a lunch to school for a few weeks. It was extremely embarrassing to take two cooked, mashed pinto bean sandwiches or two peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches wrapped in an old bread bag or reused tinfoil to school, instead of the normal sack lunches that other students brought. And sadly, there was no milk to wash the sandwiches down.
That school year passed far too quickly. On the last day of school, most of my classmates couldn’t wait for the bell to ring at three o’clock to signal their freedom for the summer. I had been dreading this day because it would usher in another depressing three months of labor at the appliance store. School had become my safe haven. So when everyone ran out the door, with Mrs. Klitsner making sure no one got run over, I lingered in the classroom, picking up candy wrappers and other bits of trash.
Mrs. Klitsner returned, surprised to find me still there. “Anna, it’s officially summertime. Why don’t you join your friends outside and celebrate?”
My stomach churned and my mouth went instantly dry. I longed to pour out my heart to my favorite teacher, to share my burdens with her. How could I explain that I didn’t want to say good-bye to her, to the school building, to the yummy cafeteria food and the playground equipment? I wished I could stay there year-round, in this safe place where I could learn so many things.
But I kept my mouth shut and simply approached her desk and shyly hugged her. “I’ll miss you. You’re the best teacher I ever had.”
Mrs. Klitsner hugged me tighter, then squatted down in front of me so she could look into my eyes. “I enjoyed having you in my class, Anna. I enjoyed school growing up too. I wanted to be at school more than anyplace else because I felt loved and challenged. Is that the way you feel?”
I didn’t trust my voice not to crack, so I merely nodded.
“Listen, you are a wonderful girl, but it’s time for you to go enjoy your summer. I’ll see you in the fall, okay?”
What if I’m not here next fall? What if we move yet again?