Writing this post.
Is something I never thought,
I'd get the opportunity to do.
Because, as a general rule,
5th grade teachers are under no
obligations to visit their former students 24 years after having them in class.
And yet,
here we are.
24 years after I first entered Karen Willard's 5th grade, light blue classroom at Moseley School in Westfield, MA, she entered mine.
Last night.
During Community Reader Night.
We both,
as one might have expected,
shed a few tears.
I happened to be in the middle of a read aloud.
And honestly, I've never read Tony DiTerilizzi's Jimmy Zangwow's out-of-this-world, moon pie adventure, so speedily in my life, which felt so weird as he is truly one of our most favorite authors (and who just two years ago, made his own unannounced and totally by surprise visit into the same room - goosebumps still recalling that day!)
When I finished, I closed my book and ushered in Ms. Adrianne, who is an exceptionally talented illustrator herself and left my little group in her capable hands as I ran to hug My Mrs. Willard.
Hugs.
In general, are not my thing.
I don't give out very many as a teacher.
Or receive many from students for that matter.
I'm a face shmoosher.
Daily taking the beautiful faces of my littles between my two hands to remind them how LOVED they are.
How SMART they are.
And how blessed I am to be their teacher.
But hugging Mrs. Willard.
Was, of course, spellbinding.
Whisking me back to my 10 year old self, getting ready for the last day of school.
Wondering how I'd ever survive the rest of my life without her.
And feeling as loved today as I did back then.
The rest of my night remained this delicate balance of hosting community reader night and waiting for everyone to leave. Karen read two books and brought stones for each of my littles, hand painted by her. By 6:30 the event had ended, Karen and her daughter Harley (Harley - I hope I spelled that right!), helped me pick up a few things and then we just sat.
On yoga ball chairs.
For hours.
If there had been tea - we would have been stand ins for Miss Honey and Matilda.
My Mrs. Willard left teaching shortly after I was her student.
She began a family.
And made a choice to homeschool her two brilliant children.
She has, over the years, stayed present in my life.
Attending my sweet 16,
Every poorly acted HS production,
And eventually my HS graduation, bestowing upon me a scrapbook of all the letters we shared in the intervening years.
I remember taking that scrapbook to college and digging for it on the nights when papers were due and it was 2am and I was sure I was going to fail - because the little quote page in the back was FILLED with advice. "Be true to yourself, and the rest will fall into place," being a particular fave.
My first classroom, 11 years ago in 2006 seems a lifetime ago.
I've been the Assistant Director of Admissions, a Residence Director, worked retail, spent a year on a reality show (and no - most of reality tv is not, in fact, real) and even returned to school to start, stop, start, stop, and hopefully start again PhD work, before returning several years ago to the classroom.
All of this to say, when I wrote her a few weeks ago, to send a copy of an essay I'd composed, it never really occurred to me that:
FIRST the letter would reach her,
SECOND that she'd really remember, and
THIRD that she'd ever make it down to my school.
I'd spent a good amount of time searching her address through deed records for her last known address, unfortunately the only information I could find was a purchase of land - not home address. So I sent a letter to the land.
Sending it really into the proverbial wind.
And for whatever power you believe in...
It made its way to her.
She sat, she shared, with her two children and shared the letter and essay with them, and promptly decided that she and Harley would attend Pajama Night - in their PJs. :)
So much of teaching has changed, but the things I learned from her in our room, about compassion, and care, about sticktoitness and reading, music, and poetry, well those have remained salient to me in my own room.
We had a long conversation about my classroom and how my mission to create a classhome for children of trauma, has really been met, turned, of course, to standardized testing and how I feel about the pressure of it all.
I returned once again to that real sentiment that no test score will ever quantify a student's worth - the good they put in the world - and therefore, it can never be my main focus. If I teach you well, and give you opportunities to learn to be a citizen of the world - I hope you will do well - not just on a ridiculous test - but do actual good in the world.
Minutes and seconds seemed to slip by almost unnoticed until my entire building was dark, save for my classroom lights. I knew the time would come where we both said goodbye and there was just something about those last few moments in room 115, that seemed so similar to those spent in room 9 or was it 12, all those years ago.
The security 10 year old me felt, about that room, about this woman.
Seemed to linger in the air.
As we readied to leave, she shared one final thought, "When you left the room earlier tonight, (I was bringing Ms. Adrianne to her next room,) I of course shared what a wonderful student you were with all your families. It took but only a second for the two boys down front to start in, with calls of YOU being the best teacher they ever had. I think that's important for you to understand."
That sentiment is a big think.
I do not set out each morning to be the best teacher anyone has ever had.
Or to be a Mrs. Willard. (Because seriously - those shoes are HULK sized that no one could ever fill.)
Just to be the best person I can be in this crazy big world.
And hopefully inspire my little people to do the same.
Of course, I'm fairly certain, I learned that, from Mrs. Willard, too. ;)
