My Tribute to Teachers Everywhere…

“Dedicated to Mrs. Speaks Grades 1-5

Priceville Elementary School”

 

I remember early mornings tossing off

mounds of handmade quilts running

across bare floors to put on shoes with

holes in the soles; then pulling on a

ragged coat to keep away the cold.

 

Life was innocent and sweet, the ringing

of a school bell, big yellow buses, sharing

secrets with your friends in your favorite

seat.  Big rolling wheels gave bumps and

giggles hitting every pothole on winding

country roads stopping at each mailbox

one by one; it was a time of purity and

having fun.

 

Some children carried their lunch in paper

sacks or ate in the cafeteria at school, but

most of us had only a tin bucket filled with

nothing but a biscuit or two.  A little country

school where children were lucky to have

clothes on their backs and shoes on their

feet, where teachers with motherly faces

brought the poor children homemade treats.

 

Teachers focused on children who were

withdrawn and no child set apart; each

encouraged to follow their dreams, to listen

to their hearts.  My memory is of such a

teacher who lives in my memories and heart;

the last time I spoke to her; she said that she

knew I was one of those withdrawn children

and set my own self apart.

 

Then in a firm voice she asked, “In life, what

have you learned”; I leaned close to her

whispering, “You taught me well and you have

no concern”.

 

She pulled me close to her, telling me to

remember that life is not always what it

seems; to never believe that all is lost

because in the end all that we have and

truly possess are our dreams.

 

She closed her eyes seemingly lost

somewhere in the past; I left with a

heavy heart knowing that this visit

would be my last.  I drove to the place

where the old school use to be, now

vacant land that I thought of as hallowed

ground;  I could still hear her say as she

did in those long ago days; “learn all you

can my child because this tiny country

school is where your future can be found.

 

What a privilege to have known such a

kindred heart, the magic she created for

each and every child; she taught us that

life may not be what it seems, but that we

should never lose the ability to dream.

 

A note came shortly before her death; she

wrote that I was to remember the lesson

that I had learned, and that no one could

change me without my consent; and

happiness and fulfillment did not always

come from external events.

 

She wrote that I must be aware that I possess

the inner wisdom, strength and the creativity

needed to make my dreams come true; life is

what you make of it she said; it’s all up to you.

 

How wonderful it is to remember the ringing of

the school bell as a child, the rushing to get on

the big yellow bus grabbing that favorite seat,

always the place where you and your friends

could meet.

 

The big rolling wheels stopped along the winding

country road letting everyone out one by one, it

was days of innocence and having fun.  Yes, I lived

in a shanty down by Old Flint Creek, and I owe a

part of my outlook on life to a treasured teacher

who always made sure the poor children like me

had homemade treats.

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

 

 

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