Fifteen years spent in the field of education have provided me with many treasured moments. One of the most endearing happened when I was teaching second grade 10 years ago.
One day in early May, I decided to plan something special for the children: a Mother's Day tea. We put our heads together to come up with ideas of how to honor our mothers. We practiced singing songs. We memorized a poem. We made sand candles and wrapped them in hand-stenciled white paper bags tied with ribbons. We wrote and decorated Mother's Day cards.
We decided to hold our tea the Friday before Mother's Day. Each child took home an invitation with an RSVP at the bottom. I was surprised and relieved to see that every mother was planning to attend. I even invited my own mother.
Finally the big day arrived. At 1:45 that afternoon, each child lined up at our classroom door in anticipation of the arrival of his or her mom. As it got closer to starting time, I looked around and my eyes quickly found Jimmy. His mother hadn't shown up, and he looked stricken.
I knew I had to do something, so I took my mother by the hand and walked over to Jimmy. "Jimmy," I said, "I have a bit of a problem here and I was wondering if you could help out. I'm going to be really busy introducing our songs and our poem and pouring the punch. I was wondering if you could maybe keep my mother company while I'm busy? You could get her punch and cookies and give her the candle I made when it's time."
My mom and Jimmy sat at a table with two other students and their moms. Jimmy served my mom her treats, presented her with the gift I had made and pulled out and pushed in her chair, just as we had practiced. Whenever I looked over, my mother and Jimmy were in deep conversation.
I never knew why Jimmy's mom wasn't able to attend our tea, but I tucked the special memory of that day away in my heart.
Now, 10 years later, I work with students of all ages, educating them about the environment. Last year, I was at a high school to take a senior class on a field trip, and there was Jimmy.
We spent the day in the badlands of Montana. On the way back, I had the students complete an outline of the day's events, a short test and an evaluation of our trip. As I collected the students' booklets, I checked them to see that everything was complete.
When I came to Jimmy's evaluation page, he had written, "Remember our Mother's Day tea when I was in second grade, Mrs. Marra? I do! Thanks for all you did for me, and thank your mother too."
As we began unloading at the school, Jimmy made sure he was the last one to go. I told him I really enjoyed what he had written. He mumbled his own thanks, and then turned to walk away. As my bus driver began pulling away from the curb, Jimmy ran back and knocked on the bus door. I thought he had forgotten something.
He jumped back on board and gave me a big hug. "Thanks again, Mrs. Marra. No one even knew my mom didn't make it!"
I ended my workday with a hug from a teenage boy who had probably stopped hugging teachers years ago.
