I was introduced to Shakespeare, in sixth grade, by a round little woman with a shiny face and small wirerimmed glasses. The classroom was in the basement of the one-time high school building that had been repurposed in 1934 (the year I was born) to the junior high and replaced by the “new” high school building that shared the block just across the street from the house where I was born – pretty much in the middle of town. By the time we were in junior high, my first real “boy-friend” was living in the house next door, but we had, by then, been living for some time on the acreage at the very south-east corner of town.

I thought that Fate was against me. What could have been sweeter than to be living next door to that nice, blueeyed boy with the beautiful smile, infectious laugh and three big brothers? I’d longed, nearly all my young life, for a big brother to protect me from neighborhood bullies, forest fires, volcanic eruptions, bumblebees and rabid squirrels. I’d gladly settle for three brothers-in-law.

I had heard of Romeo and Juliet but hadn’t known that they were a product of an English poet and playwright, and just assumed their story was a fairytale like Goldilocks or Little Red Riding Hood. Miss Greiner didn’t have us reading about teenage romance gone wrong, but gave us something more adult, something not so tragic but much more thought-provoking. She had us reading, and discussing, “The Merchant of Venice” and seriously considering the implications of paying off a debt with an actual pound of flesh. That was gory enough for even the boys who, at age 11 or 12, would have hooted and snickered at Romeo’s flowery mutterings and Juliet’s romantic fantasies.

Our textbook for the class wasn’t a watered-down synopsis of the story; it was the script written to be interpreted and performed by the actors. We took turns reading the dialog for the characters with breaks to discuss what the strange, sometimes elaborate and confusing syntax meant in modern-day English. We even tried to work out a solution and second-guess Portia as to how to outwit Shylock. In other words, we became part of the legal team bent on saving Antonio. Although the play has four interconnected plots, Miss Greiner kept our attention on what seems the most crucial to us in these modern times and we had a great time working out our own plots against the evil Shylock.

In the course of our many, sometimes lengthy, discussions, I think we all became aware that William Shakespeare had written some other things that we might enjoy reading. I don’t know how many of my classmates sought out more of Shakespeare’s plays, but I headed straight to the town library and discovered, not only “Macbeth” and “As You Like It” but a form of poetry known as sonnets which sent me in search of other recognized poetic forms. I’d always tried to write poetry but knew little about the different kinds of verse other than limericks and the predictable metered patterns of songs and nursery rhymes.

I was familiar with some of the classic narrative verses such as “A Visit From Saint Nick,” “Evangeline” and “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere” and it wasn’t long before I came across others such as “The Cremation of Sam McGee.” The strange, unsettling nonsense of e. e. Cummings baffled me, and it would be years before I learned to appreciate such poetic forms as blank verse and prose poems, but I dutifully read many, hoping that a measure of familiarity might help to enlighten me. In spite of my great admiration for Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets, I’ve had little luck writing them.

My college minor in English included, among other types of literature, classes in poetry, the most difficult being medieval English poetry. I simply couldn’t get my mind around Chaucer’s unfamiliar form of the language. I nearly flunked the course, as I nearly had my earlier classes in French. I guess I just don’t have a head for languages (except for the one I grew up with.) At any rate, I’m grateful to Mr. Shakespeare and Miss Greiner for adding that dimension to my life.