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Thanks, Mr. May

Mrs. DeMille had a thing on her feed, but I didn't get to read the thread. The headline said, "The Best Teacher I Ever Had Was...?" and I thought of Mr. May, from third grade. I wasn't in his class the whole day; I was integrated into it for a few hours. I learned my multiplication tables from Mr. May, and division. And he read to us. Boy, did he read to us! I remember a weird story about a bull, and the bull had thoughts and feelings, like a person. I remember "Where The Red Fern Grows." I remember a Narnia story. (How'd he get away with that?) And I remember when I came back to his class after my father died. I don't remember exactly what he said. I remain grateful that he said it. When you're that young, you don't know how to grieve. I think I thought I had to "get over it." Mr. May knew better.

I think more than anything, I am thankful there was a man there, in the public school. I firmly believe that while we shouldn't accept the state of our public schools, we can't give up on them, either. If boys really are falling behind, maybe being taught by one of their own will help.

Ask me what I believe about feminism, and I will ask you to define your terms. Yet I know that breaking down sex stereotypes in terms of careers is a good thing. The more Mr. Mays, the better.

Thanks to all the teachers out there.
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