In 1969, the United States Coast Guard had a small base on the Island of Saipan, itself a small isle in the Marianas Island chain. The 20 or so officers and sailors ran a navigation station on the remote island in the Pacific Ocean. A few of the senior officers and enlisted men had their families with them creating some challenges for the spouses. There was no commissary, no exchange, no movie theater, no shopping mall, and no 7-Eleven. The term “desert island” comes to mind. The children attended school at a nearby Catholic missionary that was severely understaffed and most certainly under financed. Any major medical needs had to be addressed on the neighboring island of Guam at the larger Navy base there.
In 1971, a young sandy-blonde haired boy with hazel eyes was attending school at New York City’s PS39 on Governor’s Island. With summer just weeks away, he excitedly waited for the teacher to hand out the spelling tests. As she read aloud the words, he hurriedly wrote them down, as did the other students, this being the last event of the day. He hesitated momentarily when Mrs. Crabtree announced the final word, “Number, spell Number.” He searched his memory banks and could not come up with any idea as to how to spell “Number.” Then it hit him. He was using a Number 2 pencil! Surely he could look at his pencil for the correct spelling of “Number.” He did. Content, he turned in his test and prepared to head home for the day. Mrs. Crabtree reminded the students to make sure their desks were clear as tomorrow was Parent-Teacher conference day and she wanted to make a good impression on all the parents.
At that conference Mrs. Crabtree had the unpleasant task of informing the young mother of the hazel-eyed boy with sandy blonde hair that he was not going to be advanced to the second grade. “He doesn’t know how to read,” she said. “What!” asked the mother incredulously? “What do you mean ‘he doesn’t know how to read? What have you been doing all year? Aren’t you supposed to teach him to read?” she asked in succession feeling her Irish blood beginning to boil. “Maam,” Mrs. Crabtree coldly began to answer, “He came here without the basics for us to build on. He…” The young mother cut her off, “He came here from an island in the Pacific Ocean where the school had two teachers for some 150 children, 6 of whom spoke English, and they often had to share pencils and text books and the roof leaked when it rained and there was never enough chalk for work to be done on the Goddamn chalk board!” her Irish blood boiling over.
Mrs. Crabtree, who was retiring after this school year, calmly replied that the boy would not be able to keep up with the second graders if he advanced and when asked why she hadn’t taught him to read stated simply that what he needed to learn, the basics, was not taught in first grade and she did not have the time to spend on things he should already know. That was enough for the young mother. “By your reasoning Maam,” she said, “he will then remain in first grade for the rest of his school years!”
She stormed out of the classroom with a stack of papers in hand. One of those papers a spelling test. On that spelling test was written a red letter “F.” At the bottom of that test, item #10 was written…
10. “No.” (As in No. 2 pencil)
That summer, the young mother and her son spent countless hours reading Harlequin Romance Novels, newspapers, magazines, Webster’s Dictionary, billboards, signs- all kinds of signs, Macy’s flyers, and anything that had words written on it. Twice a week they went to the library even if just to be around the books and talk about stuff. By the time fall came around, the boy found himself in a new school, in second grade and in a “special reading class.” The young mother had argued vehemently that he be placed in second grade and be given the help needed to acquire those reading skills that he lacked through no fault of his. The school complied (hell hath no fury like a mother scorned).
Within weeks the boy with sandy-blonde hair and hazel eyes was moved out of the “special reading class” as he no longer needed the help. In fact, by the end of that same school year, he was placed in an advanced reading group reading two levels above what was expected.
Today that boy is a man, serving in the United States Army who enjoys reading and writing in his spare time. He holds a BA in History and is working on a MA in Humanities. He also maintains a weblog titled Sgt Hook. Thanks Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.
There is another Mom who I am eternally grateful for and would like to send a very special Happy Mother’s Day to. The lovely and talented and down right sexy Mrs. Hook. Thanks baby for mothering our boys the way you do. I love you. Sgt Hook out.
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