You Just Never Know

I had a You're Getting Old Moment yesterday. I walked in to the local Dominoes with a baby on one hip and a four-year-old trailing half a step behind to pick up a pizza for dinner.  The girl at the counter seemed vaguely familiar but I blew it off.  After waiting on another customer she turned to me and gave me the weirdest look.  She asked me for the name on my order and I responded.  Immediately she replied under her breath, "Oh my god."

Ok.  Immediately it dawned on me she was familiar for a reason and my mind instantly went back to my inner city public school third grade teaching days.  And nothing short of a miracle her first AND last name popped into my head so I went with instincts.  "Taylor??"

She smiled, "Yes ma'am!"

We traded some pleasantries and she asked me if I was still teaching.  In a few sentences I briefed her on what I had been doing the past years since.  I couldn't remember which of the five classes she had been in so I asked if she was in my class the last year I taught.

Without missing a beat she replied, "No ma'am.  I was in your class the year of the terror attacks."

Wow.  (Another four years prior than I had questioned.)

We traded a few more pleasantries and she acknowledged my children (the elder who was self-dressed and the baby who was barefoot--which never happens in public so WHY did I have to run into someone I knew from the past now).  I told her how glad I was to see her and then got my pizzas and we left.

It wasn't until halfway home in the car that the full impact of her reply really hit me.

She knew EXACTLY where she was -even as a young child-  when the terror attacks happened just like the rest of us do.  And she remembered ME having been her teacher.  My mind flashed back to that year since it was so vivid in my memory as well.  I remember  exactly what reading lesson I was teaching when the custodian/self-proclaimed disciplinarian/self-proclaimed security guard walked in to whisper in my ear what had happened.  I remember how non-relevant that third grade reader became to us all in that moment.  I remember the days and weeks that followed as their mere eight and nine-year-olds minds tried to process what had happened.  I remember struggling with the same emotions myself. I remember their tears.  Their questions.  Their fears and confusion.  Their needed hugs and reassurances.

But then it REALLY hit home even more personally.  She remembered ME.  Mrs. Goza.  Her third grade teacher.  ME. What impression of me is sealed in her mind?  Did she know I cared about her as well as all her classmates?  Could she tell I loved to teach?  Did she catch my infectious love for learning -especially math, my favorite?  Yeah, I hope she went on to fourth grade with a grasp on long division, memorized multiplication facts, and the ability to write a good paragraph.  But I really hope she left my third grade room with a love of learning, knowing that she is special and important.

And if as teachers we can leave lasting impressions on our students' minds and in their hearts, how much more do we as parents have the ability to hurt or heal, build up or tear down with our words, actions and responses?  Our tongue has the ability to speak blessings or curses.

I hope when my girls grow up they'll say that my actions matched my words; that I lived what I said I believed and practiced what I preached.  Our life is the loudest sermon we'll ever preach.  May my attitudes and reactions point my girls to Christ.

One downside of being a teacher is planting so many seeds but only occasionally getting a glimpse of the harvest.  Hopefully as a mom now, one day I'll be able to partake in the harvest my girls' hearts will produce from the many, tiny seeds planted by me, Daddy, and their future teachers.

And may I occasionally run into past students to keep me humble :)

PS.  And the reason for the "You're Getting Old Moment"?? She's now 19.