I wonder, sometimes, how it is that I can be so self-absorbed that I forget to “see” the people around me. There are those in our path that we acknowledge, have entire conversations with, may even know well, but we forget to scrape past the exterior of their surface persona to catch a glimpse of the true person underneath.
We are all players in this little game, are we not? When someone asks you how you are, what is your instant reply? “Fine,” is how we have all been conditioned to respond. Fine whether we feel it or not. Fine even when we are struggling with a heavy burden and need a listening ear. Fine when our heart is breaking and we feel absolutely alone.
Sometimes we are NOT fine. Sometimes we should check our autopilot at the door, and scream out, “Help me!” Or “I’m lonely.” Or “I feel unappreciated by everyone in my universe!” Sometimes we should see the lie of that word in the eyes of the other and take the time to listen, or at least dig deeper. Ding the surface veneer a little. Find out what’s underneath.
I was reminded of that this week.
There is an angel that sits just outside my classroom door three days a week. She is a participant in the state funded Foster Grandparent program, and honestly, I don’t know what I would do without her. This rookie teacher just feels better knowing her calm presence is within easy reach, should I need a little help here and there.
Her place of honor in the school is an ancient desk pushed against the wall, parked between the girls and boys bathrooms. The doors are always left open to keep bathroom shenanigans to a minimum, so I am sure it is not a pleasant place to sit. And yet, she keeps coming back and has been doing it for years.
Her duties are vaguely defined and general in purpose. She will help a child memorize the States, or cipher an addition problem, or get caught up on late homework. She has cut out countless things for me and the other primary teachers, she has collated Weekly Reader sheets, organized anything disorganized, and even brought coffee to me in the middle of the afternoon.
Those are the obvious things she does. I love her for doing those things consistently and cheerfully. I love her more for the things done that are rarely seen or heard by those of us who work her so hard. For while she is explaining how to do two-column addition or what a proper noun is, she is also gently teaching life lessons. I have overheard her soft voice guiding children into channels of virtue and responsibility. Things like, the personal satisfaction of completing a job. The honor of garnering the respect of those around them. The fallacy of not being trustworthy or reliable. The long-term benefits of applying themselves to their studies. I have heard her be firm too, when needed. She is normally such a tender sweetheart, that firm resolve in her voice causes her young charges to sit up, take notice, and fly right.
The idea for Betty Day began during lesson planning for the coming week. Social Studies had a lesson that encouraged interviewing someone who had seen many changes in the community during their lifetime. I thought of Betty instantly. She had lived here her entire life, the kids adore her, and you can’t get more convenient than ten steps from her desk to our door! She was delighted to comply.
From there, the ideas in my mind grew exponentially. She should get flowers, of course. The kids LOVE to make homemade cards, and really, what is a party without cake? Chocolate, of course. Shhhhhh. It will be a surprise!
My students were thrilled. Par-tee, par-tee, par-tee!!! Oh yeah. They were on board.
I forgot about baking the cake until the morning of The Day. Shucks. I threw the boxed mix in the old Kitchen Aid, and let it bake while I passed a curling iron over the mop on my head. No time to let it cool before frosting (the cake, not my hair), so I took the frosting and fall-colored sprinkles with me (first graders wouldn’t THINK of having cake without sprinkles. They consider them a major food group).
While I laid out my materials for the day, I frosted the cake and applied a generous layer of sprinkles. OK, cake ready to go. Cards were lying in a heap on the art table. Flowers were…. FLOWERS! I nearly forgot. I ran to the cafeteria where I had shoved them in the cooler next to the red Jello, and filled a vase with water. Fall colors in a really nice arrangement. I liked them. I thought maybe she would too. Setting the vase on her desk with a card propped against it, I proceeded to prepare for my busy day and was secretly looking forward to her surprises lying in wait for her.
Then, just like that, my students arrived and the starting gun to the day had me at a dead run. About ten minutes after nine, our door opened and Grandma Betty stood there in the doorway clutching the opened card in her hand. No words came from her mouth, but tears were coursing down her velvety cheeks. I left the child I had been helping and walked towards her. She tried to speak, but only broken phrases came out. Finally, she managed to say, “No one ever gives me flowers.” She drew me into her embrace and hugged the stuffing out of me. “Thank you,” she finished in a whisper.
She wanted to thank the children as well. They flew into her familiar arms in a spontaneous group hug. More tears flowed from her soft eyes, and I ran to grab my camera. I will always cherish that shot of her being loved so unconditionally from children who instinctively discern the true character of a person. It is priceless, that picture.
I knew if she was overwhelmed with something so simple as flowers, she was going to love our secret party later in the day during Social Studies. Keeping it a secret from her was easier than I had anticipated it would be with eight first graders who have no concept of keeping a secret. They readily admit it when then pass gas in class. No shame, no secrets. That is their uninhibited motto.
Our interview went great and was incredibly interesting. Such a great job she did! I had to suppress a smile when I realized she was a little bit nervous. I learned things about the school and town that I had never heard before and the kids had great questions for her. Bravo, Betty!
Then it was time for our surprise party. I ended the interview with the announcement to her that we had been scheming and planning for several days and told her that we had christened that day National Grandma Betty Day. She beamed. Then the kids handed her their cards, and the tears began to flow again. When she saw there was cake too, I think she could have died happy on the spot.
I reflected on that later, when the kids were gone for the day. It had been such a simple thing, this little celebration of ours. It had not cost much in terms of money or time. It was not hard to plan. And yet, I had the impression that it had meant more to her than anything had in a good, long while. Why had I waited so long??
I think it goes back to being self-absorbed. Vonda is busy. Vonda is overworked and overwhelmed. Vonda, Vonda, Vonda…. Well, so what? Who isn’t going 110 miles per hours in this day and age? I have no excuse. I just didn’t take the time to ding the veneer. I had felt gratitude for all she did, but had I ever really expressed it before? Not as I should have, certainly.
It takes so very little to make a person feel appreciated. A little time and effort go such a long way in making a person feel valued and, yes, loved. I need to do it more. I need to make it a habit.
I am both chastened and buoyed.
Here’s to you, Betty…
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