All of us have had a great teacher at some time. Mine was Miss Mitchell. She was my first-grade teacher, and what I remember best was that she never criticized the colors I used when I drew. "That's lovely," she would say, and my little fingers would eagerly pick up a crayon to draw another purple horse. Partly because of her, I have never been reluctant to take chances. And then there was Coach Hood who thought I could play first string even though I was twenty pounds lighter than the rest of the squad. In the first game of the season, I ran for two touchdowns. I still carry with me the newfound confidence I felt walking off the field that afternoon. Thank you, Coach Hood. Then there is the one teacher we all share-the oldest, wisest, and most demanding. When Experience stands at the head of the class, we all pay attention. How do you make a girl go crazy? What really happens when you lick a slug? Some lessons cannot be found in books. We quickly learn that cars roll down steep driveways when the emergency brakes are released and that, nine times out of ten, a tall person will sit in front of a short one at the movies. But sometimes hope triumphs over experience-for there are a few of us who, regardless of how many times we've been disappointed by the picture on the box, still buy the cereal with the toy inside.