Background
Musings on my life's daily experiences and observations. They are presented randomly, rather than in the chronological order in which they occurred.
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August 4, 2017
My fifth-grade teacher passed away four days ago, and today I was given the honor of singing at her funeral service.
This is a woman who graced my life when I was ten and changed me forever. A great teacher can do that.
I lived in a small town. My parents both worked forty-five minutes away in what everyone I knew referred to as "The City." We'd actually moved to this small town FROM The City for a reason that, to this day, makes me shake my head: because my oldest sister was 'wild,' and our parents feared she'd get pregnant. (Must be girls in our new small town didn't get pregnant!)
But, instead of the move calming my wild sister down, it compelled her to quit school two weeks later --at age sixteen, mind you-- and move back into The City, leaving me, then age two, to have to grow up out there in the boondocks alone, that wench. (NOT that, fifty-eight years later, I'm still bitter about it or anything. No, no; certainly not.)
Just as an aside, want to hear exactly HOW provincial this small town was? The drug store owner's idea of a thoughtful gesture was putting Rosh Hashannah cards out for us, the town's only Jewish family...in JANUARY. When my mother called him out on it, he explained defensively, "Well, it says NEW YEAR!" (He was kind enough not to add, "Duhhhh!" or "What more do you people WANT!" But it was definitely there in the tone.)
My parents, because they worked, were not able to come on a Thursday at 3:30 pm to watch me perform on Visitors' Day at my ballet school. But, because I adored her --she was so young and beautiful and fashionable, warm, enthusiastic and loving-- I asked my fifth-grade teacher if she'd be my visitor that day, and she told me there was nothing she'd love more. She even brought her dashing and equally fashionable husband, our school's art teacher, along.
I was in absolute heaven. I saw in her eyes how proud she was of me that day and how very much she loved me. To me, she was nothing short of magical.
I never let her go. I wrote her letters of love and appreciation from Junior High on and kept her current with the news of my life. She came to countless shows I was in, to my wedding, and to dozens of my students' dance and piano recitals. At those, I always made her stand up and told the audience, "If you love the way I teach your children, please tell this woman, later on, when this is over, because I learned it all from her."
She was a perfect teacher: firm and no-nonsense, consistent and fair. Plus, she always insisted we do our best. She loved every one of us, though, with a ferocity so strong it was downright palpable. (And if you know the inherent obnoxiousness of ten-year-olds, then you understand how quickly that would qualify this woman for sainthood.)
My ruptured heart has been coursing puddles of sorrow up through my eyes for five days now. I was able to go into Professional Singer Mode for the duration of her church service, but I've more than made up for it since.
She changed me forever, this beloved educator. She left me so much better than she found me. A great teacher will do that. So, it's the least I can do to promise us both that I'll keep passing her magic along to all the students who will be gracing MY life from here on in.
Author Notes
Rosh Hashannah: the beginning of the Jewish New Year, which, because it follows the Hebrew calendar, typically occurs during the month of September.
The author is a former dance teacher, choreographer and professional opera singer. Currently, she teaches private voice, flute and piano lessons to seventy students, weekly, in their homes.
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