My freshman year, I took a class called Cross-Age Tutoring. I had already waived my health and computer classes, so I decided that it would be a good way to spend my time taking a class that helps young kids who have trouble with reading. I had always liked kids, and thought it would be a good way to spend my "free class." I would have never guessed that it would inspire me to eventually want to pursue a job in education.

I remember getting off the bus the first day that my class went to John J. Doyle elementary school to meet our "tutees." I had been the only freshman in my class, so I only knew a few people. My friend Nicole and I walked down the path beyond the kindergarten playground to the first grade classrooms. All of the little first-grade boys and girls had lined up in anticipation to meet their new tutors. We were all told to pick a student.

I glimpse at a little blonde girl hiding behind the tree with a few of her friends. Every once-in-a-while she peeks out her head, and then quickly retreats with a giggle. She does this two or three times, until slowly I approach her. She's about as tall as my leg, so I bend down to her eye level, and give her a quick, "Hey!" She looks at me and in the faintest whisper, she softly utters, "Hi."

"Do you have a tutor yet?" I ask her, knowing the answer.

"No," she replies in a faint whisper.

"Good," I say, "Can I be yours?" trying to be as enthusiastic as possible, detecting her shyness.

I see her big blue eyes light up, "Sure." She says.

"Great! So, would you like to go into the classroom now?" I ask her.

"Okay, yeah, let's go," I hear her say.

We get into the classroom, and as she goes to sit down at the table, I gather up the materials I would need to begin assessing her reading level: a white board, markers, and of course, books. I hurriedly walk to the tables in which we are sitting, and sit down quickly, not realizing the fact that I am no longer and first grade, and the tables seem to have shrunk. Clunk. "Ow," I utter to myself.

"So, what's your name?" I ask her, still knowing that she is shy and might not want to start up a conversation.

"Cara," she says, "what's yours?" I reply, "It's Kelly," expecting no reaction.

"Wow! My aunt's name is Kelly!" she says exuberantly. "Cool!" I say. We were off to a great start.

I start asking her to read words for me that she was supposed to have learned in kindergarten. These words ranged from "school" to "girl" to "boy" to "tree." There were twenty of these. Cara got two correct. "Great job," I tell her, "You're off to a good start!" I declare, almost biting my tongue and hoping that I hadn't been too misleading. Taking a deep breath, I begin testing her on her letters.

As I go and grab a level one book, (which is basic kindergarten reading), "No worries," I say to myself, "this will be fine.easy.it'll be great, I'll have her up to grade level in no time."

"No time," I would soon find out, would be a year. And after the first day at the school, I knew that I had a lot of work to do. Cross-Age Tutoring, the class that most took for an "easy A" would be something that would change me forever, and I knew the challenge I was about to face. But I knew that I could do it.

Each weekday, except for Fridays, I saw Cara, with her Powerpuff Girls backpack, SpongeBob pants, and those big blue eyes for about an hour, most of the time less than that because of the fact that we had to take a bus, get supplies, and wait for our kids to be done with class, among many other time deductions. So, actually, if I was lucky, I would get a total of three hours working with her per week.

Cara finally started warming up to me after the first couple of weeks, and after that she had made staggering improvements with her reading. Since I had to literally start with her on level one, I would write out the alphabet and have her read it to me, and make the sounds that correspond to each letter. Pretty soon we started books such as Down on the Farm and, as hard as it was, we would get through them.

"Th-uh.an-an-uh-muls.ruh-an.dow.dow.what's that word, Kelly?" She would say.

"What sound does the "W" make? Wuh-Wuh." I would say.

"D-wuh-nn, do-wuh.DOWN!" She cheered.

"Excellent job, Cara!" I would say. An hour with Cara was a time for me to get away from myself, life, school, and helping someone who truly needed mentoring. I knew that since she probably did not have a full support system in her home, I would need to help her with everything I could to aid her in becoming a better reader. She would have her good days and her bad days, just as I would. Each time I worked with her, I would think back to my experiences in first grade with reading. I had it easy. I was even moved up to second grade reading and was starting to read chapter books; however, I knew how much of a struggle it was for her because there were many subjects that hadn't come easy for me, such as math. So, each time she would get frustrated, I would think about how aggravated and discouraged I would get each time something would not come easy for me, whether it had been about annoying math problems I would never understand, or simply life in general.

"The.the.c-aat.ra-n up the st-st-airs." she would utter.

"Don't worry.yeah, that is a hard word. Sound it out. Great job!" I would tell her.

Pretty soon, Cara and I worked together like a team. I was her "teacher" who knew everything about reading that I possibly could at that time, and she was my "student," who was thirsting for knowledge and wanted to be the best person that she could be.

The year I spent with Cara flashed before my eyes, and before I knew it, summer vacation was so close; I could have almost touched it. Pretty soon, there were three weeks before school was about to end, my freshman year would be over.and I would not have the opportunity to work with Cara any longer.

Cara had been making so much progress with me and her reading, and I could see it every time her big bright blue eyes would look up at me and she would firmly state, "Kelly, I read a book."

Some of my fellow peers had "graduated" their kids mid-year. I never gave up on Cara. I knew that each time she would see one of her friends or classmates being able to stand up in front of the classroom and have their tutor say, "So-and-so graduated on a reading level twenty," (which had been the requirement to graduate) Cara got more motivated to reach grade level. And, about two weeks before the school year ended, she reached level nineteen.

Then.she reached level twenty.

"Kelly! Kelly!" I can still picture her, waving Weekends with Grandpa in my face with a triumphant grin, "Look, I'm at grade level and now I can graduate in front of everyone!! Kelly.I can read!" she cheered, "I, I can graduate ..."

Cara graduated on the last day I saw her. We had a party for our students that day, filled with cupcakes, punch.the works. But I know that the last day I saw Cara meant more to her than sweets and goodies. She knew how to read, and she was confident enough to conquer the world.

As funny as it sounds, I will never forget the day Cara reached grade level. She had started on a level one, and I had thought to myself many times that she would have never fulfilled her goal-to be a good reader. But she did. I had never been so proud. And the funny thing is, is that I hardly knew her. I didn't know where she lived, what she did, who she knew, or where she came from.but it mattered to me that she graduated.

Cara taught me a lot about life, and the importance of helping others. Riding back to school on the bus that last day from John J. Doyle Elementary, I felt content, proud, and that I had made a huge impact on such a little girl. She could now read and move on to second grade, and I had the notion that maybe someday I would be able to work as an educator because I saw the difference and impact it made on one person. An hour with Cara seriously changed my life.for the better.