2003-11-20
For Sarah
Teachers love to talk about how the profession is so rewarding and how we make a significant contribution to society.
The truth is, we really don't know for sure when, why or how we've impacted the life of a student, if we've been fortunate enough to do that at all.
I've had contact with a handful of former students since I began my career ten years ago teaching fifth grade in a school with a highly impoverished population. I've had kids come back to tell me they've lost their virginity, they're gay, they're getting a GED, they're pregnant. A few years ago, I read in the local newspaper that one of my former students died at the age of fifteen in a boating accident. In the picture that accompanied his obituary, I could still see his fifth grade face.
Every year, a few students will touch me so deeply that I know I will never forget their names, faces and voices. In my second year as an elementary school teacher, Sarah was one of those students.
Sarah was quiet, shy and extremely bright. She was smaller than her peers but her calm demeanor and kind disposition kept her from being a target for mockery and ridicule. She was a gifted writer and artist, and though serious by nature, her genuine smile lit up her freckled face with its appearance. She lived in absolute filth and squalor.
It was the 1994-1995 school year, and we spent the duration of that year studying wolves in depth. We adopted a wolf in Idaho, visited a local wolf refuge and participated in various writing projects to promote wolf activism. Sarah was particularly interested in this project, and at the end of the year, she presented me with this gift that she painted herself in oil on canvas.
I cried when I received it. This child, who received a free lunch every day, bought canvas and oils to create this painting inspired by a year's worth of work in my class.
From that day forward, I thought of Sarah often. My curiosity was sated when I saw her working one morning at the local grocery store as a cashier. She looked exactly the same, maybe a little taller and with pink streaks in her hair. The round face, freckles and smile hadn't changed. Still quiet and shy, I managed to learn that she was still in high school, hadn't dropped out, and was doing fairly well. I told her where she could find me if she ever needed anything at all, paid for my groceries and said goodbye. I was certain I'd see her there again, perhaps for a very long time.
Yesterday, I was walking down the hallway at work. On my way to the vending machine to get water, I noticed a tall, blond young man walking toward me. I recognized the face immediately. It was Sarah's younger brother, Matt. He stopped me for directions, but before he could ask me a thing, I said, "Matt. Aren't you Sarah's brother, Matt?"
"Yeah. I remember you. You were her fifth grade teacher," and he said my name.
"Look at you! You're so TALL!"
He smiled and looked down at the ground, something Sarah would have done after receiving a compliment.
"So where's Sarah? What's she up to these days?"
I was not prepared for this response.
"She's at Boston College."
She got out. Those were the first words that popped into my mind.
"Oh my god, really? That's so great! Wow, Matt. I'm so happy for her. What's she studying?"
"I don't really know."
"Matt, it was so good to see you. Please tell Sarah I said hello and congratulations."
"I will."
There was so much more I wanted to say, but I kept it to myself. I ran down the hall to my classroom and started to cry. By the time I opened the door, I was sobbing. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks and my nose was running.
Sarah's art has hung in my classroom every year since she gave it to me. I wiped my eyes and nose with a Kleenex while I looked at the painting she placed in my hands eight years ago.
Sarah, I'm so proud of you.
joeparadox at 3:33 p.m.