Every August, when children head back to school from summer vacation, I am

reminded of my first day as a student. It was a time of happiness, expectation, stark terror and ultimately, ecstasy. It all took place at a very familiar setting – the “new” wing of the white school on Farm Street – Nanny Arbuckle’s room, to be exact.

Nanny had taught generations of Bastropians, including my parents who met in her class in 1920. Each had an aunt teaching down the hall and they (according to family lore) fixed up William and Kathryn as a couple. They soon became sweethearts, a relationship that lasted all the way through school and they married 17 years later.

Now, it was time for me and other six-year-olds to have our chance with Nanny. In those days before kindergarten was a requirement, I had been allowed to sit in on Nanny’s class every Friday afternoon the year before beside my best friends, Clark Wright and Vicki (Rabensburg) Henry, who were a year older. I can’t remember whether any other five-year-olds were present, but I am sure I was there. So I was completely prepared to leave home and begin my educational adventure the next fall because Nanny would be there to take care of me.

On that September day in 1953, walking into her classroom was as natural and easy as anything I had ever done. I was on top of the world. But that sense of euphoria soon vanished as I discovered why there were so many other children present. Bastrop baby boomers had forced the district to provide three first grades instead of the usual two, with Mrs. Grimes joining Nanny and Mrs. Gore.

I listened with ascending anxiety and eventually in abject horror as someone announced that, when a name was called, the child should go to the room of one of the other teachers. I remember thinking I would surely die if my name were called and I sweated it out for what seemed like an eternity.

Several years ago, when I recounted this story to my lifelong friend Louis Lloyd, he replied in typical fashion, “You idiot. You didn’t have anything to worry about. Didn’t you know that Nanny insisted on teaching the old town kids who hailed from families who had been here for years? My parents were relative newcomers and they had to fight to get me a spot in Nanny’s class.”

I must admit that I had my doubts about this disruption of my memory. Louis had always been quite proficient at messing with my mind. Though Nanny has long since died, Mrs. Gore was still living in Bastrop, so I went to see her. I asked about Louis’s assertion, and she verified that it was true – flat out true with no question about it.

What a world! The higher powers, or the agents of tradition, had taken care of me.  Louis’ wisdom aside, my memory returns to that eventful moment 57 years ago. I was back in Nanny’s classroom and relieved beyond measure when the last name was called and it was not mine. I was allowed to remain in the heaven of Nanny’s class – a nest, a womb, a place of familiarity and comfort. She began to teach me and the others, a number of whom would remain together for 12 years and graduate in the old high school gym in May 1965.

Nanny Arbuckle – I will never forget her. She gave me something I have used every day since. Nanny Arbuckle taught me to read.

I have studied results of research projects about the formative value of a child’s first learning experiences. Better early teachers seem to produce happier and more successful adults. I was lucky. Because of the fortune of my birth, I had Nanny to introduce me to what I needed to know to succeed in the years ahead.

I hope this year, as school begins for students enrolling for the first time, that each one will be as fortunate as I was in 1953 when Nanny Arbuckle launched me on an experience of discovery that would empower and sustain me for life.