I thought it was something special.

I missed out on kindergarten because there was none at the school I attended so many years ago. I went straight into first grade and, because I turned six before Jan. 1, started when I was a delicate five-year-old.

Things didn't go well that first day. Nervously, I had gotten on the bus for the five-mile ride to school. Once there, I recall happily greeting some of my classmates, none of whom I knew or had seen before. The morning went well, getting acclimated to the discipline of the classroom. I began to relax a little, especially after seeing the well-equipped playground.

But after lunch, curiosity drew me to what some of the bigger kids were doing near the top of a hillside at the far end of the school property. As I walked up behind one of them, he bent his arm back to hurl a stick down the mound. It caught me in the right eye, hard enough to blacken it, and drew the wrath of one of the teachers who scolded all of us for being where we weren't supposed to be.

I spent the afternoon sitting at my desk learning how to print with a thick black pencil, while holding a damp, cool cloth to the side of my face. I arrived home with a black eye and a determination never to return to school.

I gave mother fits, hiding under the bed at the last minute so I'd miss the bus, and when driven to school became so ill that the teacher would call mother to retrieve me. As soon as I got home, I'd make a miraculous recovery.

I eventually got over it, realizing that school was an involuntary part of my future for the next 12 years, at least. But I never really grew to like it. At least not all of it.

Fortunately, it was a mistake that helped me develop some passion for the experience and for learning and for words.

I was called out of class one day to a separate room. It was highly unusual because no one had said anything about it to me beforehand. Assured I wasn't being punished for something, I didn't question what was happening. In that small room I sat, with one other boy and a woman, at a single table where she explained why we were there.

We had speech impediments, although I don't recall specifically how she described it to us. I didn't understand but I felt special since I was the only student taken out of my classroom for this treatment.

During that first session, we played games, including tiddly winks, and talked. After each special meeting, I returned to my regular classroom.

After that first day, officials at the school informed my mother they had made a mistake. I wasn't supposed to be in that class. But I liked the experience so much, my mother asked if I could remain.

Since I was having problems pronouncing the "th'' sound, the school allowed me to stay. In a few days I was correctly pronouncing words that began in "th,'' rather than giving them a "d'' sound. I spent the first semester in that class, enjoying at least part of school, for the first time.

I'm really thankful for that mistake because that training helped me learn how to enunciate clearly as well as develop a basic love for words and their use. I was drafted for several plays when in high school and in college majored in English and theater, where one professor told me "I need your voice'' when I was drafted for a dramatic reading.

If it weren't for that error, I might still be saying things like "Da rain in Spain falls mainly on da plain.'' It was one time when the outcome of someone else's goof was beneficial.

I also play a mean game of tiddly winks. Any challengers?

Have a good day.

James Pletcher Jr. is Herald-Standard business editor. He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at jpletcher@heraldstandard.com.