Hi Mrs Johannes,
Do you remember me? You were the one who believed me in me, who told me that I had “real talent.” And now, I believe in myself. Each time I thought about giving up, your words would resonate throughout my mind.
“You have such talent. You’re the only one who can read at a 4th grade level in the whole class. You have a big future ahead of you.”
I wasn’t always your favourite student, though. Remember on the 1st day of year 4, you told me that you were going to keep your eye on me for the rest of the year? And you did. During the first term, anyway. You picked on me, continually punishing me for the smallest mistakes; rocking on my chair, having my hair not tied up properly and not wearing matching socks, as though it was my fault that mum matched up the wrong pair, and during the dreariness of the morning I did not notice such a minor disparity. I tried explaining to mum that you were “bullying” me, but of course she disregarded my tears as a ploy not to go to school, and ordered me to do my homework.
I proved you wrong, though. I produced an outstanding literature assignment based on the novel we were studying, The Indian in the Cupboard. You told me this during our annual parent/teacher interview after term 1. Mum explained how I was unhappy, and you apologised. You also admitted to giving me a hard time on purpose, because you had made up your mind about me, convinced that I was the Devil’s spawn.
Because of this you had cast me into the background, as an orphan, for our rather large production of Oliver. I had never before felt so displaced. In every school production that I had done I was in the forefront. And then you called me into a meeting, telling me that I was going to take on the role as the narrator, one you had created just for me, because you wanted me to be in the spotlight. Mum was so happy. If I remember correctly, I think she sent you a box of chocolates.
You also taught me a beauty tip, which, 12 years later, comes in very handy. You recommended that I use cut up stockings rather than elastic bands to tie up my hair because it was (and still is) so thick and curly. You would watch me, as my eyes would tear up while I tried to undo the huge knot caused by the flimsy elastic band that was barely holding up bushy my hair.
I still look out for the non-existent mango tree that we planted outside of our year 4 classroom. Do you remember, Mrs Johannes, when you saw me stuffing my face with that huge mango, with all the juices flowing down my arm and smeared into my hair? You waited for me to approach the bin with the leftover seed, and as soon as I was about to drop it in, you stopped me, and accompanied me outside with a shovel. The seed never became a tree, but I was really excited to have shared that experience with you.
During our annual speech night, you awarded me with two certificates. I won the title for HSIE and Literature. Although I was nine years old, I remember that moment, standing upon the stage holding one more award than anyone else, as one of the proudest moments of my life. You taught me to believe in and stay true to myself, even if nobody else did, because your efforts are always bound to pay off.
