Thankful Thursday

Dear Mrs. Herring,

You're probably dead, I know. You were old twenty years ago and the cigarettes were aging you exponentially even back then.

You were the coolest teacher I ever had. When they talk about "old broads" they mean you.

I remember how mad I was that you wouldn't put me into Honors English because I was new to the school and you didn't know anything about me. And I'm so glad the guidance counselor had the foresight to put me in your advanced English class so we could feel each other out.

I still remember the little glances that you would shoot me when you started to catch on to who I was. Even then, I believed in myself. I wouldn't pretend that I wasn't as good as I was at doing the two things I loved best: reading and writing. You nurtured that. You had me doing the honors work by the second week of school.

When you rearranged my schedule to move me into journalism without telling me, I was taken aback. But honored. Honored that you thought I could do it. I hope I did it. Even when I wrote that article about how everyone should wear denim jumpsuits to prom and half the school didn't realize it was a joke. Thanks for laughing.

I loved your stories of meeting and learning from Robert Frost and Allen Ginsburg. I was awed.

I hope you had a comfortable retirement. I hope you spent long days reading books and smoking, damn the consequences. I hope you know that because of you, I felt really seen, a minor light in a bright constellation, but a light nonetheless. My own light. A light you fueled.

Thanks for teaching, Mrs. Herring. We need more like you.

Love,

Melanie Bennett (Jacobson)