A TRIBUTE TO MRS. VASSAR

Mrs. Vassar passed from this life recently. Between the tears, I can't stop thinking about her and her influence on my young life.

Her daughter told me last year that her mother had dementia. It's hard to imagine her with dementia after remembering her as a vibrant, intelligent, and beautiful young teacher. Heck, it's even harder to realize she's no longer walking this earth.

After her daughters were in school, she pursued a teaching degree. It couldn't be easy driving back and forth to the nearest four-year college over 100 miles a day, coming home to take care of children and do all the work expected of a mother and wife. When Mrs. Vassar finished student teaching, she agreed to be the English teacher for high school juniors. Our school only hired the best teachers. She must have felt honored yet apprehensive about taking her place in our classroom. I'm still in awe that a new teacher would have the bravery to take on 16-year-olds! 

Mrs. Vassar held her own with us, although we were rowdier in her class than with the more experienced teachers. She laughed with us while encouraging us at the same time to express ourselves in any way we wished. Her love of literature motivated most of us to read beyond our level of comprehension and revel in the pure joy of learning something new.

The school administration assigned her the task of producing and directing one-act plays. I was chosen as the lead in a couple of them. Acting allowed me to escape the confines of my persona and be entirely different. I loved it and appreciated her confidence in whatever abilities I might have had in acting.

Mrs. Vassar's guidance led me to begin expressing myself through poetry. My first attempts must have been pathetic, but her enthusiasm for them made me feel like I might have something to contribute to the world. Many years later, I would write a book of poetry. The seed was planted in her classroom.

When I recently learned of Mrs. Vassar's death, my thoughts drifted back to my relationship with her and what she meant to me. It's interesting how decades pass before the emotions of those early interactions are recalled and become more meaningful. Her encouragement of my creative abilities allowed me to deal with the unhappiness of my home life. I didn't keep any of the poems I wrote during that time, but I remember the gist of one that involved specific revenge toward those that had caused me pain. I can only imagine what she thought as she read the poem. Instead of expressing horror, she told me that it was excellent. Since the poem revealed the depth of my suffering, she realized that I needed her support more than most children and that writing poetry was a form of release for me.

You know how the old saying goes that people come into your life for a purpose? Mrs. Vassar was my lifeline at a time when I needed it. She came from a place of love. She was love. There's a special place in the afterlife for selfless individuals like her.

Rest in peace, my beloved teacher.