HEROES
They are mostly unsung. But I’ve seen them wrestling with a roomful of sweaty, bored 14 year olds on a sticky June day, capturing them into the world of King Arthur. I’ve watched them talk down a wild, uncontrollable teenager. I’ve seen them bring order out of chaos and get those Period 8 Algebra brains working. Kindness and patience, day after day. That’s heroic.
How often is it noticed? Far too seldom. How long will an insightful note or comment carry us through? A long, long time.
Miranda comes storming into my room every day, enveloped in a cloud of doom. She fights me every inch of the way. I stifle the impulse to strangle her, as that is not an option, and the more she senses my frustration, the more she digs her heels in So I sigh and adopt a tapioca pudding attitude of warmth and affection. Yes. She softens and we begin to brainstorm an essay. How was Atticus a hero? I am trying to get her jump started. “Who do you know in your life who is a hero to you?”
“Can I use you?” she responds. I could kiss her feet.
Then she stalls out again, on the far edge of Senior Year. She tamtrums and earns a whopping 29 for Quarter 3. Now graduation is in jeopardy. I know I will take the blame for not intervening in time. I go to the academic dean, confess, and we make a plan involving correspondence courses which will be torture for both Miranda and myself. But a letter must go into my file. He shows me the letter he has written and I’m riveted by the last line…”one error in a long and successful career…” I feel my tears welling up. I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat and explain, “No one has ever said that to me before”.