I got a phone call from my friend Erin last night. These days we are long-distance friends; yet strangely, the distance has made us even closer than we were before. We mostly talk about where our lives are at and where they are headed, but last night she reminded me of where we used to be. And it got me feeling all nostalgic.
It is really true that our past shapes our present; we are who we are because of what we have been through. The hard times make us wiser, and the good times give us a reason to keep going. Erin and I were new teachers together; I only had a couple of years head start when she joined our District. I had the pleasure of being her mentor as she got her start, but it wasn’t long before she and I were working side by side on everything from classes to coaching.
I believe that for 3 short years, we were living in a bubble of the best of the best of the best of times. Nothing will ever replicate it, and I don’t believe I would even like to try.
Our Language Arts department had 6 members, and it might be hard to believe, but we were 6 women who liked each other. Actually liked each other, genuinely and truly. In any other universe, 6 women together for any length of time would be trouble just waiting to happen. But like I said, we were living in a bubble…it was perfectly perfect, however brief. I write today in tribute to my colleagues, my friends, who built me and serve as the fondest of my recent memories.
We were led by Linda, the Queen, who knew what it meant to make every single day count. She came to school in costume, she had unconventional lessons, she used tough love, and when school was over she turned her ministrations to her coworkers and friends. She cooked for us, she hosted parties for us, and she taught me how to laugh. Linda interviewed me; she told me straight out in the interview that I had the job (despite the Principal’s attempt to downplay and remind her that there were other applicants left to interview) and then she promptly invited me to her house for lunch. Her wit was unmatched; she could pull an innuendo out of almost any innocent line, and knew instinctively when I needed to laugh, and when I needed her to put her arms around me and let me cry it out. I learned from her that teaching is only 10% curriculum and 90% love.
I taught alongside Linda and Mel and Kathy and Erin and Leslie for those 3 wonderful years, and the way that we collaborated with each other and spent time together inside and outside the walls of the school was the key to what made it special. We never did anything half way; when it was Dr. Seuss’ birthday, we sewed Cat in the Hat hats for every teacher in the school, we performed Reader’s Theater versions of his books, had green eggs and ham for lunch, and made a red and white paper chains that stretched down every school hallway. When we taught medieval civilization, we created a “renaissance festival” of our own in the school gym replete with shops and performances and costumes and music and props.
We hosted our own dress-up days, we surprised the students with projects and field trips. We planned dances and pot-lucks and family nights. We searched for ways to teach literature outside the room, to blur the lines between school and real experience. We took them to high-ropes courses in the mountains, we took them camping, skiing, swimming. We wrote nature poetry on the banks of the Arkansas River , we performed plays and sketches in the courtyard.
Outside of school we spent time together because we genuinely liked to be with each other. We made gingerbread houses at Kathy’s, went horseback riding at Leslie’s, had parties at Mel’s, had drinks at Erin’s. There were countless lunches and campfires and river trips and bike rides and walks between each other’s houses.
I don’t mean that we didn’t each have our troubles; of course we had our problems, our personal challenges. I, for one, certainly didn’t recognize at the time just how extraordinary this experience actually was. Marcel Proust said, “Remembrance of things past is not necessarily remembrance of things as they were.” Maybe I’ve got it wrong, or maybe others will remember it differently. But since it is my memory, it remains this way: perfect.
It isn’t until now, looking back, that I can see with such clarity how amazing those three years really were. Those remarkable women made my first teaching experience as positive and welcoming and wonderful as one could ever have hoped for. Each one of them made life more livable, and work never felt like work. I left the house each morning and went to see my other family. Mel was the spunk, Kathy was the southern lady, Erin kept us young, Leslie brought the crazy, and the Queen ruled over us all.
Like all good things do, our time together came slowly to an end. It wasn’t a recognizable end at the time, of course, but as life evolves and moves and changes, the magic of those perfect three years faded and dissolved. I was the first one to leave; my husband took a job in Missouri Kansas , Kathy went home to Kentucky Erin remained, and nothing since has ever been quite the same. This was the heart of our conversation last night, because she too, is moving on. She said, “Do you remember how good it used to be?” And yes, I do.
I miss you all, my dear friends, despite the time and distance between us. I keep a few photos from those days on the bulletin board next to my computer at school. One of my favorites is a series of photos we took on one of our many dress-up days, I have no idea which one. Linda is wrapped in multiple feather boas and is sporting a tiara and scepter. Mel and Kathy are arm in arm wearing cowboy hats, vests and boots. Leslie is wearing a red wig and enormous false eyelashes and she laughing out loud. Erin and I are in matching go-go boots and have serious 80’s hair. We are so young; we are so happy. I love to look at that picture when I need a little boost.
I’m not sad, though. To quote that tired old cliché, time cannot stand still, after all. Even if we tried we could never return to our former selves, never replicate who we were and where we were and what we were.
So I’m not sad, I’m simply grateful.
I think we had something kind of special, and it is sweeter because it was short, and rare, and ours.
