Mrs. Nelson

Mrs. Nelson was my fourth grade teacher. She was single, and almost 40. Back in those days, that was not common. Most teachers were either too young to be wed, or almost old enough to retire. Mrs. Nelson was neither. She didn’t fit the mold, in any shape or form.

Benito Juarez Elementary, was a small school in the peaceful community of Serra Mesa, in San Diego, California. Mrs. Nelson had golden brown hair, and always had a tan. If we were all good, every Friday, we would watch a movie, and eat popcorn. We just needed enough marbles in the good jar to get all the points we needed to score a fun Friday afternoon. However, every time someone said a bad word, we would get more marbles in the bad jar. She taught us early on to have goals, and to achieve them. This particular activity taught us to be patient, and that all of our hard work would eventually pay off.

More marbles in the good jar, meant we would have a good Friday. We all loved Mrs. Nelson. Maybe it was because she always gave us all of her attention, since she was unmarried, and didn’t have any kids of her own; or maybe it was because of her honesty. We all knew that she loved to talk, but she was a very sensitive soul, as well.

She loved reading to us the story, Where the Red Fern Grows. She always cried at the end, every time!

She would read a little of the story each day. Sometimes she read about 10 pages. She was sensitive, and there was always one of us who would have the tissue box ready for her. I had never met such a sensitive adult. I guess I thought I was the only emotional one, all of my life. As a kid my cousin Silvana would tease me by calling me cry baby. But Mrs. Nelson taught me that our emotions are natural. They are a part of life, and not everyone can appreciate the true scope of human emotions.

One of my favorite things that Mrs. Nelson taught us, was how to keep a journal.

She gave us all a journal and told us to write about our weekend. That was our homework assignment, every Monday night, we had to turn in a journal entry to Mrs. Nelson, by Tuesday morning.

I remember writing one day about going out with my aunt Esmeralda, who at the time, was still single, and had no children. She took me out shopping, and out for dinner one weekend. In my journal entry, I described the taste of the food we ate that weekend. I loved the way Mrs. Nelson’s face would light up when she got to the food part. I had no idea I could make people feel emotions, just by telling a story, from my point of view. I learned early on that sharing was much more than sharing toys with friends, or sharing food. Sharing my experiences with people became something intriguing for me at such an early age.

Mrs. Nelson taught me the daily habit of writing, even if we felt like nothing extraordinary happened that day. One assignment was about writing a scary story. This was a fun assignment for us, since Halloween was just around the corner. She taught us that writing could be as diverse as the retelling of a real life story, to making up a story on our own, and sharing our imagination with everyone in class.

To this day, I think of Mrs. Nelson as my favorite teacher. I was young, and had no idea what career choices lay ahead of me. But now, to this day, I write. I have won several writing awards, and I have been published, since Jr. High school.

The first contest I entered was titled: “Why I am Proud to be An American.” I won a $50 dollar savings bond. This was to be my first of many writing awards.

Mrs. Nelson’s assignment may seem deceptively simple, but she helped me build up my skills as a writer, and now as an adult, I can truly appreciate the scope that writing encompasses; both in my professional life as a writer, and in my personal life in general. Writing opens you up to introspection. Writing opens you up to the first relationship you ever have in your life: The relationship with yourself. Writing was always there for me, even if my parents weren’t. Writing was always there for me, even if I wasn’t popular in school, or dubbed a nerd.

Writing became my comfort, and my joy. Later on in life, it became a badge of pride. This is what teachers do: They teach us skills that take us everywhere. We cannot merely discard each lesson, and throw it in the trash of our collective scholastic memory.

My paternal grandfather was a reporter for The Mexican Observer Newspaper, in Mexico. Sure, maybe genetics had something to do with my career as a writer, but teachers mold you, they shape you, they influence their students in ways beyond the classroom. Environment is always crucial in the formation of young minds. My young mind was influenced by all of my teachers, but in particular Mrs. Nelson, who later married, and became Mrs. Gettner. I will always remember her fondly. She touched my life by being a positive influence, and setting the right example for an impressionable little girl who didn’t have any friends. Having her as my teacher was a blessing that a child of immigrant parents just isn’t supposed to get. She was an angel in my life, a breath of fresh air that inspired my young soul.