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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡldaA7bImRk
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxifzmvjaQW
So did her kindness.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4hf2vCu2ja
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdZLFcLsvSX
It was the kind where you had to push a button in the palm to make it grip things.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLRckJBmuVP
It matched her skin tone perfectly—sleek, futuristic, and functional.
To a kid like me, it was part miracle, part machine… and all courage.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmaDpJNWzxf
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLgIpU9gLO8
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8rzB78hRYs
I stayed at Pettit Park and in Miss Kirkpatrick’s class until third grade.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFkaGEWPEGj
That year, I had to repeat the grade.
It wasn’t easy to hear, but I was determined.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNHBWWD4vD1
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoQmDgCfrhm
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtHdpvFjjot
They were lifelines.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMlTcPaHsj2
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmKqLxWcALk
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNAWv6Xjzgb
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjQ8ZVb8PG5
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYsS4AtnUnO
He was a legend—not just a teacher, but the guy who made the large-print math software I used back in fourth grade.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC2OZboQu9x
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?42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKgdriIg34l
He read Narnia to us for an hour after lunch.
And honestly, that was some of the best time I had at school.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFzd8umROwO
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2rcxpbDCD8
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9WczgbSWkR
Students hated me.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡijiiEJlTzk
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUpUC75R46Q
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQIz3uML8XL
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcLr2hDikir
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.42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡucFL7Rqtvd
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.
42Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnsyyOZf8ZV
