Column leads to contact with former teacher

I didn’t intend for last week’s column to be a two-parter. But events since its debut have led me to broach the subject of my first grade teacher yet again. Let me start by saying that sometimes my propensity to remember minute details of the past embarrasses me. Often I remember aspects of seemingly insignificant events in massive detail- more than I would ever let on. I worry “ordinary” people will think I’m weird. But fear not if you’ve had encounters with me in the past. I forget a whole lot of stuff, too. Some claim that we remember what’s important to us and choose to forget things we deem irrelevant. I couldn’t disagree more. If that were the case, I would have long since forgotten tons of trivial junk that rolls around inside that dome of mine. However, I’ve recently come to view my memory for past details as a blessing, not a curse. Especially after last week when the memories of my first grade teacher flooded my consciousness while tapping out a column about hope. I had not intended to mention my teacher, but the memory was there and it just kinda took over. (I know kinda is not a word- my first grade teacher taught me better- but she also taught me to be creative.) So when my column appeared and I was contacted by several folks the following day, I was pleased to have produced it. Turns out my referring to my first grade teacher as “Mrs. A” didn’t fool those who know her. She is Mrs. Avery, and based on the details I provided, she was easily recognizable to several of her friends and family members. “You should call her,” one of my callers advised. “She would love to hear from you.” I was told Mrs. Avery is 91 years young now- (sorry if I’m out of line by revealing that)- and is as sharp and lively as ever. I felt like a schoolboy calling the homecoming queen to ask her for a date as my jittery fingers punched the buttons that would make Mrs. Avery’s phone ring. I hadn’t seen her or talked to her in thirty-nine years. “Of course I remember you,” she said with a smile. (I could tell she was smiling). We chatted for a while and she remembered as much about our time together in 1970 as I did, even more. Turns out my class was the last one she ever taught so we remain special to her. She went into the full-time farming business and still maintains a garden even now. “Gardens grow better when you plant them on Good Friday,” she informed me. Always the teacher. When it came time to hang up, I didn’t know exactly how to say goodbye. I thought it would be weird to tell her I loved her after thirty-nine years, so I paused and simply wished her a good evening. But with that elephant memory of mine, I remember this much: I loved her then. And for the seeds my teacher/gardener planted in me, I love her now. And though I choked on the phone, I’m not ashamed to say it now- I love you, Mrs. Avery. And I’ll be calling you back soon so you can hear it straight from the horse’s (or elephant’s) mouth.