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I loved teaching. I used to teach fourth grade.

When I was seven, I had to stay home for several weeks because of some ailment, whereupon my father elected to teach me so that I should not fall behind. In fact, he taught me in three months as much as the school taught in two years, so, on returning to school, I was shifted from grade 4 to grade 6.

Oh, yes, I taught 13 and a half years. I taught English, first at a Catholic school and then at El Toro High School in Lake Forest, Calif.

As long as my sixth graders showed an average improvement of five years, the principal and district pretty much left me alone to create my own curriculum and teach whatever I wanted.

I started the class late. The teacher said I would have to learn as much in half a year that the others learned in a year. I did it.

I was recruited to teach 9-year-olds. I taught for two years.

My mom actually taught fifth grade, so... I'm good with fifth graders. That's, like, my specialty.

I was taught by my father. He was head of the primary school so I went to his school until I was 11 - I was the youngest of four daughters and we had all been taught by him. But I didn't really enjoy my secondary education that much, probably because I am a very physical person and don't enjoy sitting at a desk all day.

Sixth grade was a big time, in my childhood, of hoops and friendship, and coming up with funny things.

I was an elementary school teacher.