The Eighth Day of Lent

Dear Mrs. Mueller,

I just finished today's crossword puzzle in the newspaper and realized that I needed to write my lenten letter. As I put the newspaper down, it took me about 2 seconds to realize who I would be writing to.

As a kid at 3rd District School in Covington, you were the first and only adult I ever saw do a crossword puzzle in the paper. I would sit in the back of your library hiding in a little closet door that was located under your desk area while you ate your lunch and did the puzzle. You were also known to sneak a cigarette at the same time every now and then.

Anyway, back then I would sometimes look at the clues in the puzzle and be completely amazed that you could make any sense from them. You told me to look for patterns; you also told me it would come with age. You said that my continued reading would be a huge asset to my future puzzle solving abilities. You said those things with a straight face to an 8 year old kid.

Forty years later, I'm not too terribly bad at crossword puzzles; I'm certainly not at the New York Times level, but I'm good enough to enjoy doing them. Actually, I love doing them because I loved you and you loved doing them.

You were probably the first person outside of my family that told me I was different. You told me I could be anything, and I believed you.

You were also the first woman I knew who didn't apologize for who she was. You were a librarian in an elementary school, who was divorced, addicted to cigarettes and enjoyed a drink every now and then. I don't think you went to church and I'm  sure I heard you say a few cuss words. I probably should have been praying for you, but you seemed cool with who you were, so I kept you off the prayer list.

I remember telling you once that I was sorry you were divorced. With a quick snap of the paper (finding the crossword puzzle, I'm sure), you said "Don't be sorry for me; it was clearly his loss." And then you laughed. I liked the way you laughed.

So, I've been a teacher for awhile now and sometimes at faculty meetings or professional development sessions the facilitator will ask us to think of our favorite teacher from our own elementary years. I always think of you, how you made me feel capable, how you trusted me with knowing who you really were, how you loved me.

I try to show up in my classroom everyday simply as myself, in honor of you. You taught me that is more than enough.

Thank you.
Love, Angela