To a Special Grade 5 Teacher

Dear Miss Q:

I haven't been able to find your address, but by now you've probably changed your name and moved to another district, maybe even changed professions. I don't think I can reasonably expect you to remember me from Grade 5--after all that was 58 years ago, and you left the classroom right after that to earn your B.A., but even so I think you might remember me, because you are just that special. I'll bet you kept all of the photos of your classes!

I told my late wife about you. She said that boys aren't interesting to teachers until Grade 5; that's when we wake up, and it could be true. I know you were the first to comment on the things I did well, and it gave me confidence. Reading, spelling, and writing aren't the things most boys are proud of, but you made me treasure those abilities. You will be glad to know that I went on to do a PhD, and that I taught many, many students, most of whom taught many, many students of their own. So you have had a much bigger impact on the world than you may have imagined, though knowing you, perhaps you did think of it.

You had a good idea of the future. You told my mother my handwriting was poor (Mom had noticed that), but it didn't matter because that was not the way of the future. She suggested I get a typewriter instead, so type I did. Eight of my own books and several articles worth of typing not counting all the rest.

You taught us that the sky is the limit, and it is. Too few people believe that these days. You wheeled in the TV for NASA launches and crises. I was ahead in my school work, so you let me watch the war in the Middle East every morning, but I had to report on what I had seen and understood.

You put us in charge of opening exercises. Each morning there was a master of ceremonies, who turned on the radio for news, led us in saying the Lord's prayer, and did the same for the national anthem. Mostly all of that went of without a hitch, but there was one day when the wheels came off the wagon.

We came to school by bus, and Randy (not his real name) was bullied at his bus stop. You were aware of it, but we didn't know that at the time. He was a misfit, always going on with his opinions about the supremacy of the British empire, always thinking he knew best.

One day it was Randy's turn to be the MC. When we got to the anthem, he said we must sing God Save the Queen. Several classmates said that is not our national anthem. Randy insisted. There was some shouting. The boy standing next to me said Paul sing something (I had the biggest voice). I started singing O Canada, which is the national anthem. The class followed. Randy ran out of the room in tears.

You couldn't have been very far away, Miss Q, because you were in the classroom in under thirty seconds, demanding answers. I knew I would be put on the spot, and I knew I couldn't lie to you. After a couple of questions you asked "Who started singing O Canada?" I said it was me. You asked me to explain why that was wrong. I said because it was Randy's turn to be MC and he was in charge. You said it was good that I understood that, but understanding it as I did, I had made the whole episode much worse. Did I truly understand what I had done, you asked. I said yes, sheepishly. "Then," you said to me, "You will apologize publicly to Randy, and you will mean it!"

Randy returned to the room, and in front of everyone, I said that I had been wrong. It was his turn to be MC and he was in charge. I said I was sorry for contradicting him. Not one of the pseudo apologies we hear these days, not I am sorry you feel that way, but a real apology. Such an important moment for me to take ownership of my bad behavior. I learned an invaluable lesson that day.

At the end of the year, you left for university. The class stayed together through grade 8, then we were blown to the four winds. I lost touch with all but two of my fellow students.

And then it was 1999, and the news of Colombine hit us all like a thunderbolt. The first motive suggested was that the shooters had been marginalized by the other students. Like others, I was taking the news in, trying to wrap my head around it.

The phone rang. It was Randy. I hadn't heard from him or the others for more than 20 years. We talked about our jobs and we remembered funny incidents from the old days. I reminded him of the stink bomb he had gotten in trouble for. After a few minutes we said good-bye.

I didn't need to think hard to understand why Randy had phoned. He was marginalized in our class, but on that day, you, Miss Q, brought him back into the group. Actually you made me bring him back into the group by apologizing. Without that day, he might have thought, what paths might he have gone down? And without your intervention that day, indeed, what paths might I have gone down? I have the size and voice to be a bully, but I have never engaged in that.

I hope you have realized, Miss Q, all te good that you have done for us. At least you know that I realize it.

Fondly and faithfully yours,

Paul, the good speller and reader with the big voice, big body, and poor handwriting.