Monday Memory

Slowly he poked his head through my door on that December day. The first thing I noticed was his toothless smile. His wasn't the toothless smile of most of my second graders. He had a mouth full of painfully rotten teeth. When he smiled, where there WERE teeth, you could see hints of black and gray on what used to be white enamel sticking out of his swollen gums. I was told that this was the result of years of being put in bed with apple juice and other sweetened juices.

It was one day before the Christmas break. The classroom was bustling with holiday excitement. I greeted him as always, "Good Morning, Johnny!" He crept slowly in the door, with his hands gripping his backpack in an I've-got-a-secret way, never once breaking that smile.

I didn't know what made that day different than any other for him. I couldn't really imagine him anticipating the holidays with very much excitement. But something was...different. His eyes followed me across the room as I prepared for another day of teaching before our Winter Break.

This was my first "real" job. Each day I found myself in a room full of eager second graders in a middle class suburb of Tampa, Florida. For the most part, they were well-fed, cared for, and generally well-adjusted children. There was just this one, Johnny, who broke my heart from the moment I started teaching him in October of 1986.

I met with the guidance counselor in early November to find out more about his story. My heart was torn even more. He was being raised by his Father--an alcoholic. He was abandoned by his Mother. Abandoned? I couldn't even fathom a Mother who could just up and leave her child. He lived with two or three older brothers. Their home had no windows, only holes where glass used to be. He slept on an old mattress on the floor. Yet, I was told, nothing could be done about it.

I was young and held out hope that I could change his world. I hoped that somehow I could find someone who would investigate and get him the care he so desparately needed. He was small, dirty, and completely disheveled most days. But he had the most enormous smile. The kind that made you look beyond the outward appearance and straight into a very large heart.

In the midst of trying to change his world, this day, HE changed mine!

Christmas. In some classrooms, the day before the holiday brings many carefully wrapped packages of coffee mugs, apple gizmos and gadgets, new books, and other "teacher gifts". My classroom was no different that year. The children came in one by one and placed their "treasure" in a pile of gifts for me. I was overwhelmed to say the least and excited to finally be able to open all the "teacher gifts" I had dreamed of during my teacher training.

As everyone took their seats and our day of festivities began, my students begged me to open the gifts first. Their anticipation was even more than mine. I LOVE this holiday and was quite happy to oblige. I opened gift after gift. I gave out hugs to everyone for their kindness as we oohed and aahed over the display. After the wrapped mountain had disappeared and all the teacher treasures sat proudly on my desk, Johnny made his way up to me with his hands tucked behind his back.

He said, "Mrs. N., I brought you a gift, too."

I thought, "No. I hope his father didn't spend money on me." I knew this family simply could not afford it.

My eyes were met by his beautiful smile as slowly, he took his hands from behind his back. I'll never forget what I saw. It was a fist full of dirty, torn, crumpled up notebook paper. There were giggles from my second grade audience. I gave them my best "teacher look" and the room suddenly hushed as I took the crumpled paper ball from Johnny's dirty hands as if it were a precious treasure.

He said, "I wanted to get this for you."

I uncrumpled the notebook "wrapping paper" and uncovered a shell. I was stunned. It wasn't the "I-went-to-the-beach-and-picked-this-up-for-you" kind of shell. Instead it was a "driveway shell". Many of the driveways in our area were covered with broken shell. Occasionally, if you dug hard enough, you could uncover a whole shell. This was a "I-found-a-treasure-in-the-driveway-and-I-dug-it-up-for-you-on-the-way-to-school" shell. And, in my mind's eye, and in my heart, it was worth more than all the other mugs and trinkets I received that day.

He held his breath until I spoke. Misty eyed, I said, "Johnny, this is going to look perfect on my shelf in the living room!" And that grin, the one that was unmistakeably love-filled, once again crossed his lips as I hugged him.

And that shell, still sits in a shadow box in my house as a constant reminder that it's not the size of a "gift" but the spirit in which it is given that sometimes makes ALL the difference. It also reminds me of why I am in education, as I think about Johnny and the countless others like him who have crossed my path over the years.

While I lost track of Johnny after that year, in my twenty years of teaching, I continue to meet more and more "Johnny's" each day. They come into my life and I still find myself thinking about what they "need" from me....wondering what I can "give" them. And I know that the best thing I can give is kindness and love mixed in with what little knowledge they may take from our time together. But, like the shell regularly reminds me, every year, from every student, through each experience, it is I who learn and receive SO MUCH!

For that, I will always be eternally grateful!