by Lauren Hewitt

Created on: October 01, 2008

My first few years of school were spent in an all-girl's private school. All of my classmates were girls, and all of our teachers were women. Besides my father and my cousins, my life was pretty much completely devoid of men. At the age of 8, I certainly never saw this as being an issue. In fact, I doubt I even gave it so much as a thought.

During the summer between third and fourth grades, my parents decided to move my sister and I into the public school system. Coming from a strict school with uniforms and rules over how high your socks had to be and what colour earrings you could wear, the idea that I could wear whatever I wanted to school far overshadowed any thoughts I might have had about having boys in my classroom. I was so excited for my first day. I still remember laying out my first-day-of-public-school outfit the night before: a pink corduroy dress with a lacy white collar, white socks, shiny black mary janes and my favorite bracelet.

The next morning, I walked into the schoolyard with my little sister and was appalled to see that all of the other kids were wearing jeans and t-shirts. No one had dressed up for the first day to the degree that I had and I felt utterly ridiculous. My sister ran off and I was left alone, standing beside the building, watching all of the other kids swinging from the monkey bars (impossible in my chosen get-up) and playing tag on the field. When the bell rang, the teachers emerged from the building and called to their classes to line up. No one seemed to be calling my class, so I stood there and waited to see what would happen. Finally, after all of the other classes had filed inside, a man walked out of the school and motioned to us. I'll never forget that moment because I remember being shocked at the idea that my teacher was a man.

I stared at him, with his long hair and his fishing vest covered in buttons, and wondered what my parents had gotten me into. But his smile was kind and when he saw me (and how could he not? I stuck out like a sore thumb), he knew who I was, and where I'd come from. He showed us into our new classroom and spent the rest of the morning giving each of us nicknames we would use throughout the year. He introduced us to the class mascot (a stuffed animal), listed off his extremely lenient rules, and by the time lunch rolled around, he had an army of 30 enraptured 10 year-olds, hanging off his every word.

Throughout the year, we remained that way. His classroom had a giant clapboard castle built

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