Sophomore English Revisited

Continuing with the theme of self-portrait that I have blipped the past two days, this photo is me with Mr. Tindall.

Today I noticed this newspaper clipping on my office wall. The article, from several years ago, is a story about my visit to the local high school, the place where I dropped out when I was 15 years old so that I could become the bride of Mr. Fun.

I had wanted to go back to visit my sophomore English teacher to tell him what had happened in my life.

That day many years ago when I dropped out of school, I had to get a signature from each of my teachers. The only one who was visibly shaken, upset by my plan, concerned about my future, was my English teacher, Mr. Tindall. When he asked me why I was dropping out, I told him I was getting married. His groan echoed down the long corridor of my memory for years afterward.

Maybe it echoed for so long because I have always remembered another scene from his class. It happened one day after the lunch period. He was at the chalkboard diagramming sentences for the class, thinking, or maybe hoping, that he was teaching his students how to diagram independent clauses. Because I am basically shy, I didn't speak much in class. But that day I spoke out loud and clear. I was so obstinate. In my 15 year old immaturity I said, "Mr. Tindall, in all the rest of my life, I will never need to know how to diagram sentences!" Honestly, I can't remember his reply to me. He was such a nice man that he probably said something polite.

So years later, after I had the good fortune of attending college as a re-entry student, majored in English, and then became a fulltime teacher of English, those two scenes would occasionally play in my mind. My stupid remark and then his very caring groan at the stupidity of my quitting school to get married.

So for a long time I had wanted to go back and thank him for being a teacher who cared. I wanted to go back and tell him the recent chapters in my life. My friend Kelly was a reporter for the local newspaper. When I told her, she phoned the high school principal and booked an appointment for me to go with the principal to Mr. Tindall's classroom one afternoon to tell the story. And that's what we did.

We surprised Mr. Tindall. The principal asked him to step outside the classroom. I introduced myself and told him my story. He was so pleased. Of course he didn't remember me or his groan. That didn't matter. I wanted to tell him my "thank you." I wanted to tell him that his caring had stayed with me all of my life and that now I too wore the shoes of a teacher, not just any teacher, but a teacher of English. Several times that afternoon he said to me, "Bless you." As liquid joy spilled from my eyes and his, I knew I had made the right decision to come tell him my story.

And now I've told it to you.

Today I am thankful for a tattered newspaper article written by my friend Kelly, for the opportunity I had to re-enter the educational system, and that puppy-love is real to puppies, even when they are two enormously naïve teenagers.

Good night from Southern California.
Rosie (& Mr. Fun), Carol