A few weeks ago I opened a new document and titled it Pacing Guide 2023-2024. From now until August, I will piece together the skeleton plan for my tenth school year as a teacher. This approaching milestone has me reflecting on my first co-teacher, and one of the most influential women of my twenties.
Cyndi was a special education teacher at my first school. I was hot off the press from college, and my first impression of Cyndi was her command. While I was struggling to cajole rowdy 10-year-olds with sweetness and convincing appeals, she walked into a room and told them what to do. They always did it. She carried herself with authority and walked with confidence. Not only confidence, but speed. She was always on the move, going at a pace about 2.5 times faster than everyone else around her, but never frantically. It was a purposeful urgency, and it caught on with her students. They worked with her when they wouldn't work with anyone else, and this was an invaluable to the whole staff.
I understood right away why she was respected. I came to understand later why she was so loved. The students formed strong attachments to her, and at first, I wondered how such a strict and often harsh-sounding teacher could create such bonds. But it became clear that Cyndi combined a firm consistency with what I can only describe as excessive care for her students. She went far above and beyond the given duties of a teacher, and made absolutely sure that they got to have experiences they never would have gotten otherwise.
Cyndi took charge of a big range of fun projects throughout the year, but the absolute best and most important in my eyes was going to camp. She planned and worked for months to make sure that all the 5th graders had the chance to play in the creek, look for fossils, catch crawdads, climb rock walls and ropes courses, ride on a zip line, play field games, hike through the woods, and have the time of their lives with an outdoor education. She traveled and stayed overnight to make it happen, almost staying overnight at school beforehand when an issue with school IDs meant we were printing our own last minute at 8 pm.
My second year of teaching, Cyndi and I were co-teachers on a new team. In this model, struggling students remained in the classroom with both of us rather than getting pulled back and forth from the regular classroom to intervention. With our rotating small group system, we were able to give those kids the attention and help they needed, and we had a great time doing it. If our principal ever questioned our teamwork, he was assured we enjoyed working together when he passed the door of our classroom and saw us both laughing as Cyndi was putting a cupcake into my open mouth. I don't remember why she was feeding me at that moment, but I remember our boss saying he was glad the new arrangements seemed to be working out well for everyone.
Cyndi invested in our relationship outside of the professional sphere. She took an interest in my plans to become a religious sister, and invited me over to her home for dinner before I took off for the convent. She and her husband told me all about their story which included their first meeting (it was at a fist fight) and his first impression of Cyndi (he was impressed that she won), and they asked about my motives and feelings as I embarked on my next step.
Cyndi not only took an interest in my life, but gifted me by letting me into hers. I was privileged to mourn her father's death with her, and watch as she cared for her feisty Italian mother in her final years. I was familiar with a daughter's love, but had never thought it out to its completion. What did it look like at the end? This was my first glimpse into the sacrificial love and life-shattering loss of an adult child now orphaned. Cyndi shared many of her mother's religious items with me - crucifixes, rosaries, and a tarnished old scene of Mary's appearance to St. Bernadette. I treasured these and prayed for the souls of the family from which they came.
Years have gone by, and the rosary bracelet Cyndi gave me is lost. The winter headband she crocheted specifically for my then high bun hairstyle is obsolete. But every once in awhile, I still reach into an old jacket pocket and feel one of the small crucifixes Cyndi passed to me. I thank God for my friend from those years, and I pray that she is blessed.
