Katie told me this story. She works at an elementary school and one day a couple of fourth grade girls asked her a question she couldn’t answer. She said, “Let’s ask Miss Sargent.” One of the girls said, “She won’t know. She’s only a first grade teacher.”
Which reminded me of a visit to an elementary school in Concord years ago. I sat on the floor surrounded by kindergartners, explained all about being a writer, read a little something. Then I opened the floor to questions and comments. One earnest little boy’s hand shot into the air. I called on him. He said slowly and with great dignity: “You’re an author. And my name is Arthur.”
‘Nother time I was up in Berlin visiting elementary school classes. In the kindergarten class, the teacher introduced me as a “real live author.” A little one said, in wonder, “I can’t believe my eyes.”
Which reminds me of the story of the fourth grade teacher in a North Country town who woke Tommy, who was asleep at his desk. “I’m awful sorry, Mrs. Johnson,” Tommy said. “We was up all night burying moose bones.”
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