One of the most unforgettable people I met during this chapter of life was my teacher, Miss Holly Kirkpatrick.
She only had one arm, but I knew better than to ask why.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ687FTmLca3
Something deep down told me—that’s not polite. That’s her story to tell.
Eventually, another student did ask.
And Miss Kirkpatrick, calm as ever, told us:
“I lost it in a car accident when we escaped Bolivia.”
That answer stuck with me.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfFhVT1Ecx9
So did her kindness.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTrpJihOEfC
She even invited me over to help with schoolwork. She didn’t have to—but she wanted to. That meant something.
Later, she got one of the first generation robotic arms.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtTU5QoL4k4
It was the kind where you had to push a button in the palm to make it grip things.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQpKlhgcPIp
It matched her skin tone perfectly—sleek, futuristic, and functional.
To a kid like me, it was part miracle, part machine… and all courage.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnfm4KNwXh7
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9Q8u2pIBqC
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP3ltZKjEyJ
I stayed at Pettit Park and in Miss Kirkpatrick’s class until third grade.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡp6ojAmhFNy
That year, I had to repeat the grade.
It wasn’t easy to hear, but I was determined.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSl8F0thq1r
And even though Miss Kirkpatrick wasn’t my classroom teacher anymore, she was still my tutor.
Some Saturdays, we’d have long study sessions.
Sometimes we’d head out to Dairy Queen—just the two of us, sharing a bite and talking about life.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡl7wWIePqvj
Other times, she’d make Manwich—sloppy joes from the can, but they tasted like a five-star meal when you were in good company.
Afterward, I’d hit the books again, working on my lessons.
Those weren’t just study sessions.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoTWYNouxsh
They were lifelines.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvxcKnlwXNB
Moments of care, patience, and encouragement from someone who never gave up on me.
Looking back, I can see how God used people like Miss Kirkpatrick to carry me forward when I felt like I was falling behind.
And that’s how Chapter 4 closes—not with a dramatic twist, but with grace on a paper plate and kindness in every lesson.
The reason I had to retake third grade wasn’t really my fault.
We moved halfway through the school year, so I had to repeat it.
My new special ed teacher was Miss Carter — a good lady who tried to help.
But the art teacher, Miss Shannon? She did not like me.
She thought I was totally blind and didn’t want to deal with me.
Grandma wasn’t having any of that.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtPEXisAkWK
She told Miss Shannon straight up,
“You don’t keep my kid away from his fellow students.”
So I stayed at Carol Elementary through sixth grade.
So that’s how I ended up at Carol Elementary, where I stayed through the end of sixth grade.
Fourth grade was with Miss Lytle—a sweet, motherly kind of teacher.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFCUS2VaYLD
She was the kind who made you feel safe, even when a girl named Lyndsey kicked me in the shin.
Miss Lytle wasn’t having any of that.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ72TIDvahYb
She told Lyndsey,
“If you’re caught kicking, we have a kicking contest—and I get to do the kicking.”
Let’s just say, Lyndsey didn’t try that again.
Fifth grade was Mr. Kratz.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrkZKGrQ8MJ
He was a legend—not just a teacher, but the guy who made the large-print math software I used back in fourth grade.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyObo32vNQh
Every time the program started, it flashed “KratzGraphics” before the math app kicked in.
Sixth grade brought Mr. Winningham—a cool dude, but not quite as cool as Mr. Kratz.
Because Mr. Kratz?7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc8qzb3BEj0
He read Narnia to us for an hour after lunch.
And honestly, that was some of the best time I had at school.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgDGmUGEkjO
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbumpN2f1Kt
Then came the dark times.
My grandparents didn’t want me going to CCMHS or Carol County Middle and High School, so they sent me to Delphi Community Middle School instead.
Middle school there was maximum suckage.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtj5eD1Vl8m
Students hated me.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL53WkUxNOc
Teachers hated me.
On the very last day of the school year, I got detention—and I skipped it.
The next year?
I begged and pleaded with Grandma and Grandpa to let me go back to the Indiana School for the Blind for seventh grade.
I just wanted out of that nightmare.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXRw21qP7Qx
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3MDlXiKFRp
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO7NWK4VSQU
Why was middle school at Delphi Community Maximum Suckage?
Because Mr. Wilson—the history teacher—accused me of cheating.
He even told my grandparents,
“That kid belongs in a deaf and dumb school.”
My grandpa fired right back,
“He’s not deaf and dumb, he’s blind.7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeaYZjVtOYX
And if you had any common sense, you’d know better.”
But the torment didn’t stop there.
Some students even spit chocolate milk down the collar of my brand-new shirt, ruining it.
That was Delphi Community Middle School.
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkANhm87QlL
