The first day of my second year teaching English at a large suburban Chicago junior high school arrived on a hot and humid 1967 August day. The bell rang, and the musty hallway quickly devoured the perspiring seventh graders who exited my first period class. I picked up my second period seating chart, glanced at the names I’d printed in alphabetical order inside little rectangles, and waited for eighth grade students to enter.

I didn’t know some of the students whose names I’d written on the chart, but I had smiled when I wrote Pat’s name. She was one of my students the previous year, and I looked forward to having her in class again. She was tall, maybe five foot ten, and energetic. To her, life was an adventure, and she embraced every second of it.

She was the first to enter the room. “Hi, Mr. McNair. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

I wiped moisture from my forehead with a handkerchief. “Yeah,” I said. “Beautiful. Did you have a good summer?”

She smiled. “The best. Went swimming nearly every day. But isn’t it exciting that school’s starting?” Her smile got even broader. “I just came from Mr. Johnson’s history class, and guess what. I have the best seat in the room.”

“That so?”

“Yep.” She gave a single head nod for emphasis. “It’s the first seat when you walk into the room. Right up front. Do you know how Mr. Johnson makes out his seating chart?”

I thought for a moment and responded with the only kind of seating chart I could think of. “Alphabetical order?”

“Nope. By foot size.”

“Foot size?” I felt my eyebrows rise just a little.

“Yep. Foot size. He seats students with the biggest feet first. Kids with the smallest feet get the leftovers. I have the biggest feet in the entire class, so I get to sit in the front seat of the first row, right by the door. Best seat in the room.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I held out my hand. “Well, congratulations.”

She shook it. “Thanks. I knew these feet would be good for something someday other than swimming.” She walked to a desk three rows in and three seats back. “Here’s where I sat last year.”

I looked at my predictable and unimaginative alphabetical chart. “Well, that’s where you sit this year, too.”

She sat and turned toward the students who had just entered the room. “Guess what, everyone. I have the biggest feet in Mr. Johnson’s first period history class.”

I watched the others crowd around her and listened to her retell the story of how her big feet had earned her the right to sit in the best seat in Mr. Johnson’s classroom. For an instant, I thought I might come up with a creative seating chart of my own. Maybe I’d seat students according to hair or eye color or by height. But I soon dismissed the possibility. The alphabetical-order chart was just too logical to consider something else.

Pat’s enthusiasm spread, and I knew the 1967-68 school year was going to be enjoyable. I also knew I’d never again see a fourteen-year-old girl thrilled because she had the biggest feet in her class.

(Be sure to check out Mike’s website at www.mikemcnair.yolasite.com.)