Paragraph Fifteen

Starting with the first row, I counted each seat until I came to mine. Fifteen. Figuring each seat would take approximately thirty seconds, I calculated a total time of seven and a half minutes before disaster would strike, and my world would never be the same again. Up until now, no one knew. With my bag of tricks, I had been able to fool everyone into thinking I was just like them.

I opened the book to Chapter One and counted down to the fifteenth paragraph. That would be my paragraph. When the student in front of me finished reading paragraph fourteen and sat down, I would then stand up, and, in a room where everyone's focus was on me, I'd reveal my shameful secret. At eleven-years-old I couldn't read.

In the fifties, when I attended grade school, there were no special education teachers or safety nets for below-the-curve students, and there were no second chances. Every child was given equal opportunity to fail or succeed. I took that opportunity to fail first grade. How in the world does someone fail first grade, you ask? That is a very good question. Thank you for asking. This is how I did it. I never attended preschool or kindergarten; they didn't exist where I lived or if they did, my mother didn't think they were necessary. So one fall day in 1951, my mother told me we were going for a walk. I was confused because it wasn't Sunday, yet I had on my Sunday-going-to-church clothes. We walked for several blocks before stopping at a busy intersection. An old lady wearing a bright-colored apron walked out into the middle of traffic, held up a sign, and when all of the cars stopped, she motioned for us to cross the street. After several more blocks, Mother took my hand and led me up steep steps and into a red brick building. I asked where we were going, and she said, "School." Since I had no idea what that meant, I was fine with it, until...

We walked through a large door and beyond the door to the left was a room with lots of children sitting at little desks. Stopping at the threshold of the door, my mother, still holding my hand, asked a lady at the far end of the room a question. At that moment there was a sudden rush of noise as every child turned in their seats to look at us. In a split second, I decided that "school" was not for me. I turned around to leave, but mother's hand had clamped down on my fingers, and she pulled me back to the door with the staring eyes.

Later that day, after mother told Hazel the story about how I held on to the door molding, refusing to let go even as the teacher and Principal pleaded with me to release my grip, I was expecting the worst. If spilling a glass of milk was grounds for the switch, then what would happen to me for being expelled from school?  Nothing. As Mother sat crying, everyone else found the humor.

* * *

Having finished the fourteenth paragraph, the girl in front of me sat down and turned around to face me. There was a sudden rush of noise as everyone else did the same. I stood up and while all eyes in my fifth-grade class were on me, I read each word in paragraph fifteen with ease. Like I said, I had my bag of tricks and once again my secret was safe.