Mrs. DeMars was my teacher in third grade, and I was in love. I was ten and she was about thirty-five. She was tall, blond and wore skirts just above her knees. I had an unbelievable crush on her.
She was married and had kids of her own, but I didn't care. I did everything I could to win her over. I washed the blackboards, took messages to the office, and helped tutor some of the slower kids in class. When I split my arm open by running into a glass door, she helped me treat the wound. When she held my arm to change the bandages, I got all woozy inside. I think she knew I was infatuated with her but she never said anything. I soaked up all the learning she could dish out.
She told me I could do anything I wanted when I grew up. The last day of school I told her that she was the best teacher ever. She whispered I was the best student ever. I'll never forget Mrs. DeMars.
