The Thinker

First, I'd like to comment on my demeanor in this photograph. It was taken in my classroom in the second grade. As many of you know, school didn't suit me much, and by the looks of it, it never did. But I’ll always remember the teacher sitting next to me. Her name was Nancy and regardless of the fact that I was a terrible student, I was her favorite kid. (Although she did confess to my mother that I was very sassy.) I often spent weekends with Nancy and her husband in their home in the suburbs of San Francisco. (I remember my mother telling me that she was unable to have kids of her own.) Many Fridays after school I’d say goodbye to my classmates, pick up my overnight bag, and hop in the car to spend the weekend with my beloved teacher. It was nice to be away from home, from the constant torment of my little brother and the irritation and disapproval of my big brother. It was also good to get away from a house that was often filled with actors who needed, as did I, my mother's attention. When I was with Nancy, her focus was on me and I felt privileged and special.

I heard Nancy died of cancer a few years later. I do wish I had the chance to tell her what a lasting impression she left on me.

Click to see the photo. (I remember loving her boots.)