As a child I loved school, but I hated the third grade because I had the meanest teacher ever; I've had teachers who were strict, but Mrs. P was beyond strict--she inflicted some permanent damage.
I met up with a few grade school friends a few months ago and we started to talk about her. Perhaps because some of their parents had voiced complaints, Mrs. P's teaching career only lasted two years at my school; however that didn't change what happened that year for me.
I believe that this teacher used fear to control us; maybe her motive was to make us tough, but in my case it worked the opposite way. And the fear thing . . . not only was it a fear of her, but I quickly developed a fear of all of my classmates because Mrs. P. had set up a system where the strong could overpower the weak. And you can only guess where I fell on the strong versus weak continuum.
On two occasions that I remember Mrs. P accused me of cheating based on reports from my classmates. The first time I weakly argued my case, but she believed the other child. The second time I never was able to explain myself and had to take home a paper that said "F - cheating." Even as I write this I can get worked up about the situation and I wish I could go back with a fraction of the courage I have now. Oh the things I would say . . . and that's what haunts me.
We all took turns leading the class each morning as we sang little praise songs. The song leader was allowed to select various children to sing solos on certain verses and I remember slinking shyly down in my seat so that I would not be noticed and called upon. The day that it was my turn to lead, I was kind of relieved because I had a small level of control--if I was leading I would not be chosen. Well guess what? One student selected a song that had leader verses and student verses. From her seat at the piano, Mrs. P told me I needed to sing one leader verse and there was no arguing with her. I can still hear my shaky voice singing:
Oh see the sky, so blue so high
So very far away.
Who lives up there where all is fair
Dear children, can you say?
Yes, I remember the moment so clearly that I don't have to look up these words--they're imbedded in my mind.
So what kind of person does this? Why did she allow the strong to take advantage of the weak? Did she know the impact this was going to have on the lives of children? These are questions in my heart that have always needed answers. And . . . thanks to Google and a brief white page search, I probably could get some answers.
I've connected with a lot of people from my past thanks to facebook and it's all been such a positive experience. Distant cousins, former teachers and neighborhood friends from my childhood are all some of the delightful surprises I have encountered. I love tying up loose ends and I love old friendships that somehow come "full circle."
But there are also some negative experiences in my life that I would love to speak into, not for any good reason other than to have the last word. I have said for many years how I would love to run into Mrs. P and I would tell her how much she damaged me. Well, she showed up in a Google search--at least I'm pretty sure it's the same person based on age and a few other facts. I've even fantasized about bumping into her "by accident" and facing her one more time. But that's where it stops because I'm sure I wouldn't see the woman I remember. I know that she's old and perhaps frail and has probably been damaged herself.
So now I know the truth; the conversation that I've imagined, could actually take place, but it never will. There would be no point and I have no idea where her life has taken her. And beside that, isn't it time that I let go of a grudge that has hung on for over fifty years?
I was struck by a quote I read recently by Brene Brown: "In order for forgiveness to happen, something has to die." Isn't Holy Week the best time to finally forgive an ancient grudge? And theologically I understand how something or someone has to die in order for us to be forgiven; then we in turn can forgive others. But there's more to the story for me. Something else has to die in order for me to forgive Mrs. P.
I need to let go of that frightened little third-grader. She has been following me around long enough. I have looked at life too often through her scared and timid eyes and I need to be done with it. You see, it's no longer Mrs. P's fault--now it's my responsibility. "In order for forgiveness to happen, something has to die." That fragile third-grader who's intimidated and fragile needs to die, for my sake, and when that happens I'll be free to forgive. So Mrs. P, "From one person who needs forgiveness to another . . . I forgive you . . . and I wish you well."
