Mr. A rarely smiled and his dress shoes—as black and shiny as his slicked down hair—squeaked. I think I saw him smile once. A little. I don’t remember. He was quiet like me. I do remember the five-shelf classroom library he stocked with books just for the fifth and sixth graders who shared the same room all day long.
By Amanda Cleary Eastep In the corner of our fifth/sixth grade Lutheran classroom was a narrow bookshelf full of books that were ours alone. Our parochial school had a library, a place I loved to visit despite the taunts of the older students who worked the desk: “You’ll never read this book. . .it’s too […]