I'll never forget the day that the
big black car with the two men in full Air Force dress uniforms
knocked on the door of our tiny duplex in Lincoln, Nebraska, before
school on September 20th, 1968.
When I was seven years old, my
father was killed in Vietnam. He was returning from a routine flight
in a fighter jet and crashed just three miles short of the runway.
No one can explain the crash or why he was even flying that plane.
You see, he was trained to fly the largest planes, the B-52 bombers.
Why he was flying a jet remains a mystery. His plane was not shot
down, nor did he report any mechanical difficulties. It just went
down. My father was pinned beneath the wreckage and it was said that
he died instantly. The news of my father's death was so devastating
that after the two men left, I remember just sitting on my mom's lap
with my younger brother and crying our hearts out.
Later that week, we had to fly to
Long Island, New York, because that's where my dad was raised and
where the family burial plot was. That where my grandmother wanted
him buried, although he could have been buried in Arlington. But he
was her only child and she wanted him close. I remember staying at
my grandmother's house with a family member during the church service
because my mother thought it best my brother and I not go to the
church. After the church service, we were picked up and taken to the
cemetery for the burial.
Upon returning home, I was so
afraid that something would happen to my mom. I didn't want to go to
school. I screamed, cried, and hid under the dining room table. I
didn't want to go to school. The logic of a seven-year old: My dad
dies when I was in school, so maybe my mom would, too. We were at an
impasse.
My life was forever changed by two
incredibly caring educators. Two women to whom I will never be able
to repay my debt—Louise Shuman and Maxine Moore, the elementary
school counselor and my second grade teacher, respectively.
At school each morning, my mother
would drop my brother and me off at the designated door. One of
these ladies would be there waiting for us every day. I remember
sitting in Mrs. Shuman's office, talking and coloring pictures. Mrs.
Shuman's office provided me a quiet place, a place where I could come
to school and feel safe. A place where someone would listen to me,
my thoughts, and my worries. Who I remember most, though, is Mrs.
Moore.
Mrs. Moore would allow me to come
into her classroom before the rest of my classmates each day and doo
odd jobs for her. I sharpened pencils, passed out morning work, and
did other small jobs for her. These are things she would have
normally done herself, but she saved them for me. We would talk,
which allowed me to feel comfortable in the classroom before the rest
of my classmates arrived. Her compassion, caring, and understanding
were game-changers for this scared little second grader. You would
have thought the story ended there. It did not.
The next year my mom remarried and
we moved to a farm a couple of hours away from Lincoln. Even though
we lived in a different community, we still kept the same dentist
back in Lincoln. Every time we'd go to the dentist, we'd meet Mrs.
Moore for an after-school snack. Secretly, my mom and Mrs. Moore
worked together to make sure this happened. Because Mrs. Moore cared
that much, she wanted to stay in touch with my family and me. I
never did lose the connection that Mrs. Moore and I had built over
the years.
After high school, I returned to
Lincoln for college. One of the first teachers to influence my young
life in a positive way continued to impact me and my future. Mrs.
Moore, my second grade teacher, wrote one of my reference letters for
my acceptance into the University of Nebraksa-Lincoln. Because of
her amazing influence and compassion, I, too, decided that I wanted
to be a teacher. I had a dual major in Elementary Education and
Early Childhood Education with a minor in music education. Many
evenings, throughout my college career, you could find me at Mrs.
Moore's home, studying or talking about current trends in education.
In addition, on those weekend that I didn't go home to the farm, you
could find me enjoying Sunday dinner with the Moore family. The
impact that Mrs. Moore had on me when I was just sever years old and
the bond we formed lead me to a career in education and the desire to
focus on relationship-building in my own classroom.
Now, as I have been teaching over
thirty years in the area of early childhood education, Mrs. Moore is
on my mind each and every day. She was the first teacher, of so
many, to have a positive impact on my life. I do my best to emulate
the care and compassion I learned very early on from Mrs. Moore. The
relationships that teachers build with their students can be
long-lasting.. What I learned from Maxine Moore is that you never
know how your influence on the life of a child will impact them! In
all that you do, show every child that you love them and want what is
best for them. Her care, compassion, and life-long connection
started with a little, scared second grade girl who needed her. She
had no idea what the long-lasting, far-reaching impact would be. Yet
she inspired a life of learning and a life of teaching. Her gentle
guidance kept me headed in the right direction. That ripple reaches
out in directions and guides in ways we may never know.
