Mrs. Crandall was my teacher in first and second grade, and one day she gave us a math problem to solve. The unusual thing was that she didn't care about whether we got the right answer, but only about how we got to our answer. A few of the smart kids explained their supersmart ways of getting to the answer, but none was quite the way Mrs. Crandall was looking for.
Meanwhile I tried to make myself invisible. My answer was completely different from any of the others, so I definitely didn't want her to call on me. However, after five or six other students, it was my turn, so I unhappily shared my answer. I was surprised to see Mrs. Crandall's face light up. That was exactly what she was looking for, and for the first time in my life, I felt smart! Throughout my first- and second-grade years, she encouraged my outside-the-box thinking and assured me that I was my own kind of smart.
After she retired, I was fortunate to spend a few afternoons with Mrs. Crandall as she sorted through a room full of her teaching treasures—old basal books, handcrafted bulletin boards, charts, singalongs, and so on—and shared teaching stories with me. I reminded her about the time she made me feel smart, and I told her that I would never forget the gift she gave me.
Mrs. Crandall gifted me with a few of her teaching treasures, and today they mean even more to me, since I learned that she recently passed away. My heart is heavy, but Mrs. Crandall's legacy will be around for a long time, along with her gift for making me feel smart. I'll never forgot her encouragement, and now I strive to help each of my students understand that they're smart too.
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