When I was in second grade, Mrs. Clawson asked me to help the younger children learn to read.
She gave me a copy of the reader they were using and told me which story they were working on. Since it was the same reader I had used the year before, I already knew the stories.
The desks were lined up in neat rows, all facing the blackboard.
I would pull a little chair up beside a student’s desk and listen while they read out loud. When a child came to a word they didn’t know, I encouraged them to sound it out. If that didn’t help, I would tell them the word.
There was something satisfying, even at the age of seven, about being able to help.
I really enjoyed it — and I was proud that Mrs. Clawson trusted me to do it.
Of course, I had my own work to do, but if I finished early and she needed someone to listen to the first graders read, she would ask if I would like to help. I always did.
The next year, when I started third grade, I moved to a different classroom. Even then, there were times when Mrs. Clawson asked my new teacher, Miss Nesbitt, if I could come back and listen to her students read.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I suppose that was my first experience as a tutor.