The Meeting ... and More

"I wish that I could repay a portion of the gladness you've strewn along my way. And if I could have one wish, this only would it be: I'd like to be the kind of friend that you have been to me."

— Edgar A. Guest

Voice I:

Who would have ever thought that one person could make such a difference? I mean a difference that would create such an impact that I would never have guessed it would happen to me. Yet it has happened to me and more than once. I believe that God strategically places people in our lives that really make a difference, and I have learned from Maya Angelou to call these individuals that make an impact on us our "lifelines." History has taught us that one person does and can make a difference, either positively or negatively. Consider horrible dictators like Adolf Hitler and Saddam Hussein. It just reminds me to thank the Lord for some of our country's heroes like John F. Kennedy, Martin L. King, Jr., and the main hero who belongs to me as well as millions of other Christians, Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. But for me, Sue is one of my favorite and personal heroes who entered my life in the fall of 1990, and this walk of mine has never been the same.

Sue Whited was the name she stated when we met, and I was impressed by her full, gorgeous set of brown, wavy hair. I remember her being taller than the average female and middle aged. Upon further observation, I saw her put so much excitement and great exuberance into the current task at hand that I easily guessed that she loved teaching. I, on the other hand, loved the students and was still trying to acquire a love for teaching, which was not my first choice of careers. "Now she looks like a real teacher," I remember thinking as well. Not that I didn't feel like a real teacher because I felt I could teach. I just did not want to teach and had to learn the hard way that teaching, like preaching, is ordained by God (Ephesians 4:11). At that time, teaching jobs were the only doors God would open for me because He was specifically showing me how to submit to His will. I don't know how I looked, but Sue just had that teacher's look and I noticed it the very first day we met. You might see her in the grocery store and correctly guess, "That's a teacher." Even one of our former students called me over to his desk one day to show me a picture in a magazine. "Mrs. Hester," he stated, "Doesn't that look like Mrs. Whited with that sign — looking like a teacher-teacher?" Professional decorum disappeared as I fell out laughing while my other students looked on as if I had gone mad. That day "teacher-teacher," a term coined by our former student, was incorporated into my vocabulary. A teacher-teacher:

Stands up 95% of the time while teaching.
Arrives early to prepare for the day.
Stays late at work to plan for tomorrow.
Takes work home and actually does it.
Makes detailed lesson plans and grades every project.
Checks to make sure homework is completed.
Spends his/her own money on the students and classroom supplies.
Makes phone calls home to let parents know about problems before it's too late.
Sponsors several activities and/or clubs for the students.
Would rather come in sick than have a "sub" fill in for the day.
Has enough sick and personal days on the books to retire a few years early.
Is selected Teacher of the Year every year by someone (including a relative or friend).

We have all probably known at least one teacher who fits that description, but Sue is definitely one that I know personally. I have often said to her, "I wish I had had you as a teacher in the eighth grade, and I pray each year for my children to have a teacher like you." The great thing about that is how God has done exactly that more than once.

Sue's initial approach towards me was warm, friendly, and full of life. I liked her instantly, and after that one encounter, I felt myself drawn to her like a moth to a light. This tall, amicable woman appealed to me as sensitive, experienced, and wise. Somehow I just knew that I would learn from her, drawing from her like a really dry sponge absorbing water. Each day we found ourselves engaged in one-on-one conversations.

I have Sue to thank for my voting in each election. I had shared with her on one of those rare occasions when you take a risk with someone you're getting to know and say something deep, straight from the heart. You take this risk with that person and hope they will still like you and consider you an equal after you have said it. Sue taught social studies on our team, so the topic of current events came up often as we talked. Election time was quickly approaching, and Sue wanted to have some type of mock election with our classes (I say "our" classes because in middle school a team of two to four teachers teaches the same group of students in order to plan and correlate lessons/subjects). Needless to say, what two better subjects could you have to work together than language arts, my subject, and social studies? As Sue began to animatedly go over her plans for a mock election during our team planning time, she looked for me to grasp the excitement and tell her what English skills could best be tied into the lesson. As I sat and watched Sue, it was obvious that I was much less enthused than she. "So what do you think?" she asked. Take the risk, I thought, and suddenly my reply just gushed out of me like a child harboring a deep, dark secret. "How am I going to get our students involved in a process I haven't even participated in yet myself?" Sue looked at me, but not down at me, so from that point I let it all out. I shared with her how as a young black woman, I felt the system was full of mainly white males who held the top positions, with top pay, and we probably would never have a black president because of who I called "the powers that be." I went on to ask, "Why should I vote? I am a nobody in a white man's world." I was bitter indeed, but I sensed Sue's compassionate ear close by as I shared even more and ended with my confession that I had never voted.

By the time Sue finished with me that day, I felt proud to be an American and was ready to vote. As I made plans to register for my first election, I became excited and easily began to think of ways English would tie in perfectly with a mock election. Amazingly, as I look back, it wasn't the gruesome details of dog bites, beatings, or any lynching that caused me to go to the polls. The knowledge of struggles...