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Thank You, Miss Morrissey

© Christina Coruth

"Her hair, the color of a carrot, was braided in two tight braids that stuck straight out. Her nose was the shape of a very small potato and was dotted all over with freckles. It must be admitted that the mouth under this nose was a very wide one, with strong white teeth. Her dress was rather unusual. Pippi herself had made it. She had meant it to be blue, but there wasn't quite enough blue cloth, so Pippi had sewed little red pieces on it here and there. On her long thin legs she wore a pair of long stockings, one brown and the other black, and she had on a pair of black shoes that were exactly twice as long as her feet."*

My teacher, Miss Morrissey, opened a new world to me with these words. Every day she read to my fourth grade class at Wilson Street School in Manchester. I don't remember if I had been read to before entering Miss Morrissey's class. I'm sure my other teachers must have read to the class. I'm also sure that I had never before heard a tale like Pippi Longstocking. Miss Morrissey knew how to read a story and you could tell that she loved the words. She taught me to love words.

I don't even know Miss Morrissey's first name. I thought she was very old, but I was only nine years old. Anyone past adolescence would have seemed old to me. Looking back, I'm guessing she must have been in her late fifties. Not old at all to me now, but that was 1959 and Miss Morrissey was the most wonderful person I had ever known. Her hair, short, curly, and graying around the temples, was brushed back from her face. She wore very sensible shoes -- the clunky looking shoes with a good solid heel. Her thick glasses enlarged her kindly eyes, the mirrors to her kindly soul.

Miss Morrissey didn't play favorites. She had a way of making everyone feel special. Each student had an opportunity to stay after school to help wash down the blackboards and clap the erasers. Some teachers used this as a punishment, but Miss Morrissey was never short of volunteers for the task. I remember how happy I was after the work was done. Since her home was in the same general direction, she walked a few blocks with my classmate and me. She talked with us. After all these years, I can't remember the conversations. I do remember the warm feeling of happiness walking along with my teacher who was so very interesting and interested in what I had to say.

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