Homage To a Third Grade Teacher

Homage to a Third Grade Teacher I see it now the cork with holes the wood around it splintered, but it was our window to the world. On it he would display a thousand hoarded pictures from calendars long outdated, but in his mind; useful still. I see his window opening to those faraway places meant to be visited, longing for my feet to hit their pavement. The letters he had cut from nine inch by twelve inch stock construction paper was a treasure of promises. If only I could get my hands on such gold and rubies, pearls and emeralds; such treasures I could pirate to my place of sanctuary. And then it happened; the opportunity I had longed for: the very window to my soul would be displayed for ungrateful eyes to see. While others played and messed themselves with mud and clinging dirt I messed with greens and red and opened the window to a whole new world. A splash of red right there and yellow, green and brown; the colors of an autumn world that I could only hope someday to see for myself. There is one I remember still; a solitary tree standing as a guard on that sunlit hill. I placed it high in the top right corner of up and down for all to see but gently it was removed to teach a lesson in the clout of color. “Red,” he said, with intensity of truth; “Red is the color that will not be overlooked. Red always asks to be in the center, in the spotlight of its world.” And so he moved it to the center stage; one red autumn tree set against a bright blue sky shouting to the cosmos: “Look at me!” I’ll not forget that lesson taught on that old cork window; red is a favorite hue because it commands our eyes.