Here at School Fest, I’d like to start up a project where we recall the teachers who really went the distance to help us along our individual journeys. You know the ones I’m talking about—the teachers who still bring tears to your eyes when you think of what they meant to you, how they treated you (perhaps even better than your caregivers at times), how they believed in you. I’d like to call this series Teacher Heroes.

The first teacher I’d like to personally honor is Karen Wright, who was my first memorably positive and encouraging teacher. She was my third grade teacher, and until I had her, I pretty much hated school. I cried every year when school started—and often threw up due to my nervousness and dread of attending. The books we read were boring; the work was tedious and repetitive. You remember; odds are that you were probably there, too.

Mrs. Wright, whom I had been afraid of due to rumors of her meanness, was anything but mean. She was emotional; she cried when she read us Charlotte’s Web. She was understanding; when I had various idiosyncrasies—such as bringing tiny toy animals to “learn with me,” as my daughter does when I’m teaching her, now that I think about it—instead of confiscating them, she allowed them a spot on my desk as long as I didn’t play with them.

But she was far more than tolerant. I started my period that year, a terrifying ordeal for a nine-year-old, and she took it in stride; she even brought me a small makeup pouch to keep my maxi pads in. She gave me a signal to let her know if I needed to use the restroom—which I was always too embarrassed to use, though I did appreciate the gesture.

Mrs. Wright let me choose what books I wanted from the fifth and sixth graders section, which brought me back to my original love of books that my parents had fostered by letting me read what I wanted to read throughout my childhood. The one time I got in trouble for swearing—I called a boy a “bastard,” something I had heard another older, “cooler” boy in my neighborhood say—instead of sending me to the principal, she asked for my side of the story first, and gave me a warning, and taught me that this was very hurtful—a conversation that still stays with me when I think of condemning someone with vulgarity—not to the point where I don’t do it at all, but where I definitely am not as careless with my words as I might have been.

Mrs. Wright was one of my heroes then, and she remains one to this day. I only wish I could thank her in person, and maybe introduce my child to her, as I’m sure she would love to meet her—they both would enjoy that, I think—and also love the fact that my girl’s a big fan of Charlotte’s Web.