“Mr. Bowen!” There she is.
Just a few yards away. Beaming
smile. Ripe with youth and hope. I can remember when my own smile carried on
its edges the message of youth and hope.
These days, when it smirks back at me in the mirror, it seems to suggest
something closer to grit and compromise.
Not ashamed of either, but when youth and hope and optimism beam out at
you from a young person, you tend to miss your old supply.
A small part of
their optimism during these little public meetings is wrapped around the notion
that I possess instant and total recall and their name will roll right off my
tongue. My memories are more like dusty
boxes piled in a dim attic. It’s in
there, treasured even, but just harder to find.
Luckily, her name is right on top.
Easy access. No fumbling
around. No need to ask or disappoint.
“Hi Ashely. So good to see you. How have you been?” Most of these conversations take on a
primitive cocktail party exchange.
Accomplishments and goals. Family
and friends. I am somewhat vested in
these conversations. At one time, I was
their teacher. I was a part of their
process. You secretly want to know if
you had any impact. The education road
is long and I know I am only a brief stop along the way, but you still can’t
help taking great pride in their success and mourn for their failures.
I remember Ashley
because she was beginning a very dark year.
She was already a child that squirmed in her seat and chattered at the
worst moments in class. That summer her
father had passed, and she started seventh grade with great loss, and even
greater anger. School was no longer
important. Even a good bluff to keep up
appearances wasn’t going to happen. It
was simply a time to be angry; an attempt to make meaning where no meaning
could be found.
That was years
ago. She is older now. Same face, different frame. And she seems lighter, carrying fewer demons
these days. She recalls the silliness of
her time in middle school.
“I remember,” she
starts in, “I remember that you sat me next to Mary Jane and we would
constantly talk and even pass notes. And
then, anytime you changed the seating chart, you still had me sitting next to
Mary Jane. Every time.” She laughs a little. “And we just kept right on talking in
class. Mr. Bowen, you would get so
annoyed and we thought you were just so dumb not to move us.” I laugh at my own stupidity.
“Seventh grade was
your worst year, huh?” I turn the moment
a bit somber. It catches her off
guard. She looks down.
“Yeah. My dad had died. I was such a mess.”
“You still friends
with Mary Jane?”
“Oh yeah. We’re still really close. In fact, she talked me into joining band with
her. In high school, we studied together all the time. She got me through A.P. chemistry.”
“You really needed
a good friend that year,” I say. She
nods. “And to think you found yourself
sitting next to one all year long,” I add.
She pauses and gives me a quizzical look.
“So every time you
let us sit together, you did it on purpose?”
“Sometimes a lot
of thought goes into being this dumb,” I say, smiling. “An adult like me couldn’t be that
friend. But, I had faith in Mary
Jane.” She just stares at me for a
while. Seems unsure of what to say. The conversation in the aisle of hair
products at the local CVS has run its course.
She looks down, taking in the new information. And then she hugs me. Now it’s my turn to be caught off guard. I clumsily hug back.
“Thank you,” she
says. I smile and watch her walk
away. I stand in the store and all of a
sudden my concern over which conditioner might give my aging hair more volume
seems silly. I sigh, and go to pay. Instantly, I am annoyed at the cashier for
taking far too long. I am also
frustrated with the lady who is bickering over an outdated coupon. I am not always the friendliest guy. Not always a good friend, to be honest with
you. But luckily, I am good at spotting
one. And sometimes, that is more than
enough.
If you're enjoying the blog, here's a book I recommend. "Our Kids: Building Relationships in the Classroom," is available at Amazon.
As a middle school teacher, I spend so much time angry that my students aren't doing the work for MY class. Sometimes I need to be reminded that there are so many kids dealing with so many grown up issues that they just can't worry about doing the assigned SSR log. This story helps me to remember the importance of understanding that middle school mind and all the things it's dealing with. Interesting how this girl didn't remember your awesome grammar lesson, but didn't forget that she got to sit next to her friend. Sometimes it's the little things that matter most. Thanks!
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