I swallowed deeply as I opened the door and
stepped aside for him to enter. “Really, Mr.
B? But you have a good job as a road crew
foreman. How have you managed that if you
can’t read?” I asked as he took two tentative
steps into the room.
Then you can help him decide what to put in
his letter to the author.”
“I just always am sure to be behind the wheel of
the truck and some junior crew member gets to
sit beside me and read the assignments while I
drive,” he shared a little proudly, accepting the
seat I indicated at my work table.
They read the whole series together by the end
of the school year.
“Well then, it sounds like you are a pretty good
problem solver, so let’s sit down and work out a
plan together so you can work with your son.”
For the next seven months I created every
lesson twice: once for the class and once for
Jerry to share with his father. They learned
spelling, practiced math facts, and shared
simple library books. Jerry read the directions
to his father and they did the assignments
together. I made word lists shorter with
diagrams to focus on spelling rules. I sent home
a set of blocks, rods, and cubes for practicing
place value and acting out multiplication.
Jerry and I selected books at, or just below, his
reading level that had fewer words per page,
that were rich in graphics and illustrations, and
that supported our science and social studies
topics. I pushed out due dates on assignments
and then, together, Jerry and his father decided
when they were ready to turn work in.
At one point I assigned a book report that
required parents and students to share reading
a book the parent had enjoyed as a child,
and then together write a letter to the author
explaining their reaction to the story. This, of
course, brought another panicked phone call.
“Mrs. Peterson, we can’t do that assignment. I
never read any books growing up!”
“OK, Mr. B, we’ll have Jerry pick a book he
thinks you will like and he can read it to you.
18
Two weeks later, came another phone call.
“Mrs. Peterson, that story was great! Are there
any more of those Goosebumps books?”
As Jerry and his dad became more comfortable
about our plan, they found other ways to
maintain our connection. Their payback for
the extra time I spent with them was to invite
me to Jerry’s soccer games and to Boy Scout
ceremonies. Mr. B had taught himself, and then
his son, to play the guitar and they often were
the music leaders at meetings.
Even today, when I visit Boy Scout meetings,
I flash back to the strumming guitars and
inharmonious voices offering up “You Are My
Sunshine,” as proud father and son twanged
away from the stage, glowing at being the
leaders.
At the end of the school year, Jerry moved on
to middle school. Mr. B and I really never got
a chance to say goodbye, but he did send me a
crudely printed note that said, “Thanks Mrs. P,
from Jerry and Dad.”
Jump ahead to July, 10 years later. Sitting
with my coffee in my backyard early in the
morning I opened the paper to briefly scan the
local news and was stopped cold when an item
on the obituary page caught my eye. The name
was right, but surely it couldn’t be the same
guy. He was so young! But, yes, the picture
showed the same chubby face, the hairline
a bit higher, but the grin identical to what
I remembered from those moments on the
stage at the Boy Scout meetings so long ago. I
scanned the words: “diabetes,” “heart attack,”
and a simple paragraph that grabbed me by
the heart: “We want the world to know we are
proud of our father who didn’t learn to read
2015 Washington State Teacher of the Year • From Seed to Apple