Do you remember that teacher? The one who drove you the hardest, but who also brought out the best in you? She, (or he) saw something in you that perhaps no one else did, or brought it to your attention for the first time. Maybe you suspected it, hoped for it, but didn't quite dare to dream it. But she dared you to.
I remember Mrs. Childers. Eight grade English at Bethel Junior High School in Spanaway, Washington. Mid 70's. No eighth grader truly likes grammar or creative writing, or will admit to it anyway. I didn't hate it, I will cop to that much at least. I, in fact, went on to take creative writing and classical literature in high school as elective classes. Yes. Voluntarily read Shakespeare. I frankly struggled with the romantic classics and poetry, I'll admit, but did fine with Homer.
Back to Mrs. Childers, however. She assigned us to write a short story. Because I was a horse girl at the time, I wrote one naturally about a girl and her horse. Write what you know made sense to me. All I recalled about it was receiving a good grade. Okay, an A+. I will fast forward about ten to twelve years.
I have two younger sisters ten and twelve years younger than I who also attended the same school. I was married with two children, a toddler and infant by then. One of my sisters had some event or another at the school, and I attended. I bumped into Mrs. Childers and was amazed that she remembered me when I introduced myself.
"Of course I remember you. Do you recall the short story you wrote for my class, 'Tut Ronek?' About the girl and her horse?" she asked me. I was stunned, I had forgotten the name of it, and could barely remember it. She continued, "I still have it, I asked you if I could keep it if you remember." I did not. "I read it to my class every year as an example of the perfect short story." She paused here, took my hand and looked me right in the eyes. "I do hope you are still writing." I was somewhat ashamed to admit that being a full-time mom of a two-year old and newborn, I was only writing grocery lists.
We caught up, I told her about my family and my desire to write one day. I gave her my address and asked if she would be willing to send me a copy of the story. She agreed. Before we moved on, she took my hand once again, and said, "Please, do write. You were born for it."
I have never forgotten that meeting. It impressed me more than the year in spent in her classroom. She inspired me to write. To dig deep for the gift that was in me, to find the purpose, the drive and grit to pour out what God poured in.
That chance meeting was close to forty years ago. I have just recently completed my first novel and started writing my second. In the interim I wrote. . . devotions, Bible studies, articles for church newsletters, blogs. I have yet to sell one single solitary word that I've penned.
And that's okay. I don't think that is what that tiny little English teacher meant when she told me to write. Otherwise she would have done something more with that story than read it to a room full of eighth graders for years. The intent was to inspire them to write. . . take the stories swirling around in your head and put them to paper, get them in front of readers and inspire them to think, to feel, to grow. For that is the purpose behind the story.
For a truly inspirational read...follow this link to see who inspires me. https://seandietrich.substack.com/p/one-fine-teacher?utm_campaign=email-half-post&r=4qm65r&utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email
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