An apology to the girl in the last seat in the last row

By Michael Patrick O’Brien–

Dear sixth-grade-girl-whose-name-I-don’t-remember:

Our last year of elementary school was heavenly for me. I now realize, many years later, that it may have been hellish for you.

There were thirty of us together in that 6th grade class at our elementary school. Our teacher was very active and engaged, always challenging us, and constantly trying to instill a fighting spirit of achievement in his students. I thrived in that environment.

He once organized a class-wide basketball tournament. The five person teams were randomly selected and we were on the same team. You were slow and awkward at a sport you probably did not play much. I also seem to remember now that you may have had some sort of heart murmur or other health condition, but all that was not really relevant to me back then.

I was not a much better athlete, but my competitive urges frequently outpaced my skills. I really wanted to win, so I never bothered to pass the ball to you. You probably did not feel like part of that team, and I doubt you had much fun. We did not win the tournament either.

Our teacher prized academic achievement too, and I did well in school. At the end of each quarter, he ranked the whole class, from 1-30, and organized our classroom desks according to our rank. There were five rows of six desks each. The best spot was the front row, left side, the first seat in the first row. Most of the time I proudly sat there, or in the second best spot right next to it.

This desk organization system certainly boosted my self-esteem. Today, my wife claims I have enough of that for several people. I think I knew, back then, that you were in the worst seat, fifth row back, last seat on the right, rank no. 30. It never occurred to me then, however, how it must have felt to sit there.

There may have been many reasons you were there. People learn in different ways and at various paces. Life outside the classroom effects things inside there too. My own mother lost her mother in elementary school. Her father was an alcoholic and really could not care for her. As a result, Mom’s academic performance deteriorated and she had to repeat a grade. She likely was a last-row-sitter too.

I never knew the backstory for your own apparent struggles. I do not think our teacher meant to be cruel, but it must have been hard for you, each day, to face a very public reminder of your classroom challenges. Your desk was a large scarlet letter made from wood and metal.

No one mocked you because of your circumstances. At least I didn’t, and I don’t remember anyone else doing so either. As you can tell from what I have written so far, however, in the sixth grade I was a bit oblivious to the plights of others. Even if you were not mocked, it probably still hurt to sit in your lowly assigned seat.

Why am I writing all this to you now, over four decades later? In fifth grade, I won a book of Robert Frost poems in a reading contest. I still read it today.  In one poem, Frost wrote, “How many things have to happen to you before something occurs to you?” Apparently, a lot.

It has occurred to me that sixth grade boys usually grow up. We often acquire more empathy, and more humanity. I am sorry I did not notice you or your pain before. If it brings you any belated comfort, please consider that I now know you were, and hopefully still are, much more than just the last girl in the last seat in the last row.

*Mike O’Brien is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. He is writing a book about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah. He blogs at http://theboymonk.com/.