I still have the first dictionary I ever owned. Ms. Wanza Sharp gave it to me in fourth grade. It was missing both front and back covers, and the first and last few pages were missing. I still have it safely tucked away in my home library archives. The dictionary is precious because it was one of the first books I ever owned, and Ms. Wanza, one of my all-time heroes both in and out of the classroom, gave it to me. Also, I spent many a day playing school with that wonderful volume.

While the dictionary was wonderful, I of course still wanted a new one with all the pages. I still believed in Santa Claus at the ripe old age of nine, and that is what I asked for that year. My mother could never keep a secret, and I begged her into telling me that I was getting a dictionary. Somehow, though it was supposed to be from Santa, Mother let it slip that it was in the closet. I begged her into giving it to me early. Since there was nothing for Santa to place under the tree, my Christmas morning surprise that year was to learn that Santa for me was dear old Mom. You guessed it, I still have that dictionary more than 45 years after that Christmas of 1974.

One of the greatest gifts Mother ever gave me was a world globe that she purchased for me with green stamps for Christmas 1978. Oh, how I craved that globe! Though I was thirteen that year and getting so old to play school that I kept it a secret from my school friends, I spent many a day playing school with that globe. It has its place of prominence in my home library. I have seen the same exact globe advertised on Facebook’s Marketplace for as high as $40. Only threat of starvation could make me willingly part with that globe for hundreds of times that price.

Very often other members of the family would tell Mother what they were giving me for Christmas, and Mother, who could not keep a secret, always told me. I was warned to not let them know she had told, so I always pretended that I was very surprised with whatever I received. I wonder how well I pulled it off?

Some of our greatest conspiracies were against my dad. Mother was a very frugal woman as well as being my good partner in crime. Sometimes our conspiracies against my father backfired.

There was one time a traveling salesman came to our house. He came during the day when Dad had gone fishing. He wanted to sell us a set of dictionaries and an atlas.

Mother always had a little money saved for a rainy day, but she only had enough money to order me the dictionary—Webster’s New World Dictionary with Student Handbook. I don’t remember what she paid for that dictionary for me, but I have recently seen several in KARM stores for $1.99 (or $1.00 if purchased in a set of five books).

Dad had an interesting temperament. Mother and I knew that if something was not his idea that he would “have a fit”. We figured that as Dad was gone from home so often during the day that the chance was great that the salesman would deliver the dictionary at another time when Dad was not home. Wrong! Not only was Dad home, it was after 9:00 p.m. when he insisted that everyone in the house be in bed. The salesman came and rousted us all from bed. I don’t remember what if any fallout there was, for Dad surprisingly at times didn’t have bad reactions to things as we would have assumed. All I know is, guess what? I still have that dictionary on my home library bookshelves these some 43 years later.

In the spring of 1982 a group of young people were “working the neighborhood”, selling magazines to raise money for their college tuition. It always surprised me when salespeople came to our home, because anyone could tell from looking at it that its occupants were either very miserly or destitute. A car dropped this nice young lady at our house and left her to visit with us while others were dropped off at other houses in the neighborhood. Mother and I didn’t have to fear Dad’s wrath as he had passed away in February of that year.

I would have been ashamed to let any of my friends know, but guess what I was doing? Playing school, even though I was a junior in high school. I stopped to hear the young lady’s appeal, and Mother and I decided to take a risk that this was not a scam and purchased a year’s subscription of Psychology Today to assist both the young lady’s and my educational attainment.

Upon leaving, the young lady asked if she could do anything for us. I told her she could “observe my class” (which was totally imaginary) if she would. After all, she was safe, right? I figured I would never see her again. That very kind girl, though she might of laughed her head off when she rejoined her comrades and have known for sure that I did indeed need the psychological magazine just purchased, played right along with me, and as she took her leave she asked to speak to me “in the hall”. She praised my fantasy teaching, telling me that I would make one ---- of a teacher.

I have often thought of that young lady, and I wonder if she remembers what must have been to her a strange experience. I don’t remember anything about her, except what I have just related, but I hope the good Lord helped her realize the fulfillment of her educational dreams just as He has mine.

There were members of my own family who knew of my obsession with playing school and found it disturbing and unhealthy. My wise Mother, God rest her sweet soul, obviously had enough faith in God and her son to know that all would be well. She once told me, “People used to laugh at you for pretending your red wagon was a school bus, but look at you now!”

This reminds me of an episode of The Simpsons. Bart is sharing his fear of being held back in fourth grade with Otto Man. Otto Man tells him it might be the best thing that ever happened to him. Otto related that he himself was held back in fourth grade, twice, and told Bart, “Now I DRIVE the bus.”

Sometimes, with the help of God sent by way of a wise mother, dreams do become reality.

In the next article I hope to share more about encouragement to you, Faithful Reader. Until then, I leave you with another bit of email wisdom:

If you jumped off a bridge in Paris, you’d be in Seine.