Photo by Element5 Digital
What a wonderful time it was! After six years of teaching in South Central Los Angeles, experiencing life through the eyes and minds of my third-grade students, I had taken a leave to have a baby of my own.
My baby was now two years old, and I was still on leave. Every day with a toddler brought new discoveries, and I relished my time with him. All thoughts of my young inner-city students were as far away as the school where I had taught them. So I was unprepared for my encounter at the museum.
On a bright morning I took my son to a special Muppets exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry. He loved seeing all his friends from Sesame Street and the other Muppets. On leaving the exhibit, we went to the gift shop so he could select a souvenir of his visit. When I took his toy up to the cashier, the attractive young woman looked at me strangely.
I had read that teachers rarely know the effect they have on young lives, but I had never experienced it the way I did at that moment.”
“I know you,” she said, although she didn’t sound completely sure.
“Well, I’m not sure I know you,” I replied, searching her face and my memory for clues of recognition. I didn’t find any, but I was willing to believe her.
Suddenly her face glowed with bright certainty. “You’re Miss Sauer!” she exclaimed excitedly.
“I used to be,” I said. Miss Sauer was my maiden name, the name I had during my first three years of teaching in South Central. “But I still don’t know who you are.”
She beamed as she shared her name with me.
Memories rushed into my mind. She had been a third grader in the very first class I taught at Parmelee Elementary in 1970. She had been a gawky, homely little girl with far too many problems. Her mother was dead, she lived with her father and older brothers, and the family was very poor. In third grade, She was already a year behind in reading and math, and she always seemed withdrawn, quiet, and somewhat sullen. I had never felt that I reached her or helped her very much, and she was not a child for whom I would have predicted success.
The young woman who stood before me now was lovely, charming, and self-assured. “I remember you now,” I said, “but you’ve changed a lot more than I have!”
She laughed. “What have you been doing these past eight years?” I asked.
She told me that she had finished high school, was taking business classes, and had a summer job working in the museum gift shop. “I’m taking Spanish classes, too,” she said, “so I can get a bilingual job.”
Then she turned to the young woman working with her and said, “Miss Sauer was always my favorite teacher.”
I shivered with pleasure and excitement. Not only had a student for whom I would have predicted failure blossomed and succeeded, she had acknowledged, in a most basic way, that I had made an impact on her life. And she had faith in me that I would remember who she was.
I had read that teachers rarely know the effect they have on young lives, but I had never experienced it the way I did at that moment.
After talking with her a while longer, I left the museum, blessing my young son for having brought me there that day. He happily took home his Muppet toy, but I took home a far more precious souvenir, one which I have kept tucked in my heart ever since.