Do you like words? Here are a few of them. Book 2 is moving along nicely!

Second grade was a memorable year, one of the most notable of my entire elementary career. My teacher was a big reason why. Mrs. Skidmore was her name, and we were all in mortal fear of her. She was a tall woman, with dyed brown hair worn in severe curls. Her glasses were enormous and thick-lensed. Her cheeks were saggy, and she wore gold eyeglass chains that only served to exaggerate the wilted look of her face.

Mrs. Skidmore was old school before the phrase even existed. She had no tolerance for any sort of bad behavior, and was harsh and quick to punish those who rebelled at the iron fist of her classroom rules. One good illustration of the type of teacher she was came when a poor classmate who I will call Zack pushed her just a little too far one afternoon. Mrs. Skidmore didn’t allow us to talk, or make noise, or get out of our seat, or pretty much do anything other than breathe and do our work. She surveyed the class from her desk, fingers touching in a triangle pattern. Zack, whose name had been on the board every single day of the school year thus far, was getting fidgety. He tapped his pencil and loudly whispered to a friend across the room. For each of these two infractions, Mrs. Skidmore added a yellow checkmark to his name on the green chalkboard. The dust had barely settled on the second check when Zack stood up and walked to the pencil sharpener. Without permission.