At Robert M. Pyles elementary school, Mr. Brown was my first teacher. In Kindergarten.
I’ll admit I was probably one of the slowest, dumbest students at the time, and probably had no mental conception of what was going on.
I know that I cried a lot and was too emotionally attached to my mom. I also know I never followed directions in class, and accidentally made my teacher’s life a living hell. As terrible as I was, it was kindergarten, so I was still cute, arguably. When middle schoolers do things, I have no sympathy for them, and subsequently backpacks are thrown out of the room.
Anyway, I’m grateful Mr. Brown was able to kickstart his career teaching me, and I hope I didn’t completely scare him away from teaching. I have no way of contacting him because I don’t know his first name. He kind of looks like a Robert. Or a Frank. Or a Jonny. Who knows though.
If there’s hope for me, there’s hope for everyone. Let me stress again, in kindergarten. I will never apply this kind of logic to any of my students, because in middle school. Cognitively, even if I was slow, I was never rude to Mr. Brown, the first of many inspirational teachers that taught me directly in the classroom.
