Recently I have been using scraps of my childhood memories to build work passwords, so that every time I sign on to my computer I have a lovely waft of long-ago sweep over me. And one I used recently was a variation of my first grade teacher's name.
I was fascinated by her. She had short, curly, dark hair, flecked with silver and I do believe a chin wart with a hair sprouting from it! Her most riveting feature, however was her diamond ring. To my five-year-old eyes its dazzle was magnetic. She would hold an open book in one hand as she read to us and slide the ringed hand in and out of the pocket of her maroon sweater. It was hard to concentrate on the story with that much glitter going on!
She was most kind and wrote on my report card under Deportment that I was "a little angel" which brought hoots of laughter from the supper table that evening.
Curiously enough, she was also my father's first teacher - in the same two-roomed school. He was one of her first pupils and I was one of the last.
Alpha and omega - with a diamond ring.
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