Tonight while standing in my kitchen, cupboards open trying to plan dinner, I came to the sad and sorry conclusion that with all of the food in my house we had absolutely nothing to eat. So, I did what any normal person would do in that situation. I went to the grocery store for one thing in order to make a meal worth eating.
Rice.
Also, like most people, I left the grocery store with rice and a few other things. Like a candy bar.
And a dose of regret.
In the checkout lane next to me stood my high school health teacher. I greeted her, reminded her of my name and class and mentioned my sister, because we all know how deep seeded my roots as L's little sister are. (I know Gramma, grow up, stop being bitter, I am my own person, yadda yadda yadda. I swear I'm kidding.) We exchanged pleasantries as we packed up and walked to our cars.
I'm living in the same city where I grew up. I am married with two adorable boys. She is still teaching and our new high school is stunningly beautiful.
As I backed out of my parking spot I considered going back, chasing her down, because I didn't say what I should have said.
I should have said this:
Ms. D,
You were one of the good ones. One of the teachers who without knowing, made an impact on my life.
I saw it again tonight. The smile that you always had for your students. The smile that communicated that you were focused on them and them alone. A smile that really meant you cared. A smile that gave away your passion for what you were doing.
I fell asleep in your class once. Some friends and I had the bright idea of pulling an all nighter to study for our AP U.S. History test. I'd practically OD'd on Mountain Dew in the previous 10 hours and I dozed off during a video, or a film strip, or maybe even a lecture. You didn't yell, you weren't visibly angry or upset. You woke me gently with concern that I had made a bad decision. You were right. It was a horrible decision and I'm pretty sure I failed that history test.
Your compassion went far beyond the walls of your classroom. I remember you telling a story of being stopped at a light when the man in the car next to you hit the woman in his passenger seat. You said you rolled down your window and told her she could get out of his car then and there and get in yours, you would make sure she was safe. I've prayed that if I were ever to witness the same that I would be able to react with the same courage, strength and compassion that you did.
Your compassion went far beyond the walls of your classroom. I remember you telling a story of being stopped at a light when the man in the car next to you hit the woman in his passenger seat. You said you rolled down your window and told her she could get out of his car then and there and get in yours, you would make sure she was safe. I've prayed that if I were ever to witness the same that I would be able to react with the same courage, strength and compassion that you did.
You taught us with humor and fun. I remember you teaching us that swearing wasn't cool. That it really was just plain stupid. You standing in the front of the room saying "Oh feces!" Or walking us through the logic of the f-bomb. If the effinheimer really means sexual intercourse, and flipping the bird is saying eff you, than really what you are saying is "sexual intercourse you!" You stood in the front of that classroom flipping us all off while saying "sexual intercourse you" over and over again. And while we've avoided four letter words in our house for now, I do plan on using that logic with my sons when they decide to push the limits of their vocabulary someday.
When talking about pain and withdrawal, you made us give up an addiction and journal our physical and emotional reactions. While some of my classmates were fighting addictions to caffeine, or nicotine or alcohol, you didn't scoff when I chose to give up music for the project. You acknowledged the significant place it had in my life and supported me through the project just like you supported each of my classmates battling a physical addiction.
Oh, and I remember everything you said about drugs, alcohol, STD's and contraceptives.
That's all.
Thank you Ms. D for the lessons. The easy lessons, the simple lessons, the hard lessons and the lessons I didn't realized I'd learned until now. You were one of the good ones, the kind, compassionate, wonderful teachers who's impact really goes farther than you know.
Sincerely and with much love,
Kim
You see, now that is what I should have said.
