I was scared to death. It was my first day of second grade, and I was terrified to the point of regurgitation.

“Please don’t make me go to school,” I begged my mother.

Mama was driving the car. I sat in the passenger seat as she drove our station wagon. I had the countenance of a man wearing a noose.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mama said. “You have to go to school. What are you so afraid of?”

I was afraid of the second grade teacher, Ms. Burns. Ms. Burns was a hard woman who, according to rumors circulating the first grade, had done a stint in Leavenworth.

She was an exacting woman, with a sharp tongue, high standards, at times using rulers, riding crops, or other such instruments of persecution in class. She was nothing like Mrs. Anderson, our first-grade teacher, who was soft spoken, smelled like strawberries, and had soft bosoms perfectly created for absorbing childhood tears.

We first graders would often stand on the playground and cower behind a tree whenever Ms. Burns was present. She had yellow eyes and green teeth.

“She’s so mean,” I cried to my mother. “Please don’t make me go.”

My mother eased to a stop sign. “How do you KNOW she’s mean?”

“Everyone knows.”

We were nearing the school. The brick building was getting closer. My nausea had transformed from an upper gastrointestinal issue into a lower one.

“Please, Mama,” I was crying now. I was also trembling.

My mother pulled into the parking lot. She just held the wheel with both hands and stared forward at the flagpole.

She looked at me. “What’s the worst thing that could happen to you?”

I shrugged. Then I began breathing into a paper bag.

“Okay. Then let me ask you another question. What’s the worst thing that could happen to anyone in this life? What is the worst thing you can imagine in the whole universe?”

“I don’t know. Dying?”

She nodded. “Did you know that fear is worse than death?”

I said nothing.

“To let fear inside you is to allow yourself to die early. Each time you give into fear, you sacrifice a piece of yourself you’ll never get back.

“But do you know what? The opposite is also true. Every time you face your fear, head on, every time you shake your fist at the devil, you win a piece of yourself back. And in the end, you always figure out that there was nothing to be afraid of. Even the worst fears are just illusions.

“This woman could end up being the best teacher you ever had. She might be nothing like you imagine.

“And I can promise you one thing: If you’re brave enough to shake hands with your fear, that fear will disappear forever. Don’t you ever forget that.”

I wiped my tears. I trudged into the school.

Ms. Burns was waiting by the classroom door. She greeted me. I presented a quivering hand to her. We shook hands. She smiled at me. I smiled back.

And my mother was right. Ms. Burns forever remains the best, and most fun teacher I ever had. Second only to my mother, of course.

Happy birthday, Mama.