Oh Sarah

You sat me down one day when I was nine years old and said, “Michelle, you’re ok, just the way you are.”

I didn’t believe you. If it were true, the other kids wouldn’t make fun of me. My freckles. My red hair. My crooked teeth. My height. My big feet.

Would they?

I wasn’t sure why, but you were patient with me.

You fostered my love of reading. I think of you every time I read Chronicles of Narnia, Lord of the Rings or The Little Prince.

I was a great artist, and you knew it. You had me leading the whale project. A paper mache’ whale, the size of a car, that would hang in the cafeteria. Today, 30 years later, it still hangs there.

You were the only person in my educational career who caused me sadness when I would walk through the classroom door and see a substitute.

A hippy. Long sandy blonde hair. You taught the importance of creativity, individuality and taking care of the environment. Before it was cool to do so.

Anger was never the answer to you. You showed me how patience can create resolve.

You had no tolerance for those, who did not tolerate differences in others.

You convinced me that imagination was every bit as important as math. But I still needed math.

I was incredibly shy and you never forced me the way others did.

I didn’t know, but you took a picture of me one day. While I was reading in class. My stringy hair hung down around my face, my freckles sticking out like chocolate sprinkles.

You developed it in black and white and blew it up into an 8x10 and gave it to me at the end of the year.

You said that I had been your favorite and that the picture was to remind me that you could see who I was and that I was going to be alright.

Sometimes I wish you were around in my adult life, because people don’t always see me.

You will always be in my heart, and thank you for making fourth grade one of the best years of my entire life.