As much as I loved my daughter, my heart was not really in most of the activities we did together. While playing with her I found myself daydreaming about teaching and going back to it. The short time I taught before she was born was the happiest period of my life. When I left Peck High to have Regina, the principal, Hugh Lance, told me firmly I had damned well better plan on coming back, that he didn’t want to see my talent wasted. He was not given to compliments, so I was genuinely flattered by what he said. As comfortable as I was at home, nothing in the world rivaled the sensation of being in front of a class giving my performance, which would encourage the kids to give theirs. Naturally, there were disappointments, scores of them, but somehow they were always outweighed by the accomplishments. And while I was at home with Regina, it was those accomplishments I kept thinking about. Although I said nothing, I would catch Frank every now and then giving me a knowing, sympathetic look. Finally­, a few months before Regina turned four, he suggested I call Lance and ask if I could come back the following September. I wanted to leap for the phone, but I said no, another year wouldn’t make any difference one way or the other. I was apprehensive about turning Regina over to a stranger before she started school. The last thing I wanted her to feel was abandonment.

I called Lance and the arrangements were made. I would start back to work when Regina started kindergarten. Frank’s plan was to get Regina into the morning session and to schedule his own classes for the morning as well. That way, she would come home to him, not to a baby-sitter.

That last year alone with Regina, I managed to keep my disposition in top form: knowing I was going back to work made my patience invincible. When Regina whined and crabbed, I was stolidly serene. I didn’t even mind playing chauffeur and chaperon when she and her friends wanted to go to the zoo or to the south-side swimming pool every day it didn’t rain. Before that, during the winter months, I took them sledding three days a week.

Then in August came the end to my serenity. Regina began to complain of feeling cold, of aching in her ankles, arches and knees. The doctor said it was probably a summer cold or a strain of flu. I was content with that for three or four days, until she turned pale and developed dark circles under her eyes that looked as if they had been there forever.

It turned out to be rheumatic fever. Along with the prescription for the medication, the doctor handed us the news that there would be no school for Regina until January, and possibly not even then. She was to have constant rest and no excitement. That, of course, meant she had to be watched. So for me it would be good-bye to teaching for another year.