SALT MINES It seemed like an easy project when Rachel, my third grader, brought home some homework. However, this wasn't homework for her -- it was homework for me. Mrs. Frye, her new third grade teacher, had an assignment for us parents. Our topic was to write about our own third grade teachers. At first, it was terribly hard. How was I supposed to remember my teacher from some twenty, no, almost thirty years ago? "Gosh, has that much time passed?" Now I really felt old. After recovering from this shocking thought, the memories just started to flow to the surface like an old friend. When I was in third grade, I moved in with my grandparents in Fort Worth and started school at Holiday Heights. My teacher's name was Mrs. Houston, and she was wonderful. I loved her. She would read wonderful stories after lunch and sometimes, if we had time, at the end of the day. I remember her reading, Where the Red Fern Grows. A little boy in class cried openly when she read about those dogs dying, while I hid my tears. That little boy went on to become our graduating class Valedictorian. Mrs. Houston would let us put our desks together when we watched movies in class. I truly thought she was the nicest and prettiest teacher ever. One time, Mrs. Houston, asked us to tell her where our dads or mothers worked. I didn't know about my parents because I now lived with my grandparents. My grandma stayed home -- this I knew for certain as she was always there when I got home from school. My grandma always had the best sourdough bread waiting for my sister and me when we got home. But for grandpa -- that was different. I knew where he worked! He said something about him "going off to the Salt Mines". So I proudly told the class the next day, "My granddad works at the Salt Mines." My friends thought that was pretty neat and my teacher smiled and said that was nice. But many years later, my grandma told me that Mrs. Houston had called her afterwards and they both had a good laugh about it! In my paper to Rachel's class, I had to explain the story since they were much too young to catch the joke, so I said: "Off to the salt mines" is a joke that grown-ups use when they are talking about work. It means that they are in for a hard day because working in salt mines is a tough job -- like on days when there is a test at school. My grandfather's job wasn't hard like working in the salt mines. He had a really good job in Dallas working on computers." Now that I'm older, I appreciate Mrs. Houston even more. Not only was she a good teacher, but she didn't make fun of a third grader who thought her granddad worked in the salt mines. Rachel came home from school that day after submitting my homework. She had the biggest grin on her face. "Guess what, Mom? Mrs. Frye liked your story best of all and read it to the class." Now I have two wonderful teachers to appreciate -- Mrs. Houston AND Mrs. Frye! .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³