Grandma's Stroll Down Memory Lane

As I sit rocking in my old gray chair by the large picture window, I find myself slowly drifting off to the past, - - - lingering there for a brief moment and then slipping reluctantly back to the present.  These brief glimpses awaken many precious memories; beckoning me to pull back the curtain of time, and slowly wander down that long, long trek of memory lane, - - - a lane lined with years of joys, tears, and sorrows.

          One afternoon shortly after the episode of my encounter with the principal, there was an unexpected knock at my classroom door.  My heart sank with the thought it could be the principal, Mr. Taylor - - - or worse yet, the entire school board coming to usher me out!

          I opened the door just far enough to see a dignified gentleman standing there.  After inviting him in, he reached out and shook my hand, introducing himself as the superintendent of the Mansfield schools.  On hearing that, my heart nearly stopped beating!

          He then proceeded to perch himself on one of the children’s desks while motioning me to an adjoining one.  Then after his scrutinizing me far longer than I felt comfortable with, he startled me by breaking into a smile and saying, “Mrs. Martin, what’s the secret of your teaching?”

I was well aware of the important position he held as superintendent of Mansfield schools and wondered how it happened that a man of his posture would be asking someone so insignificant as myself such a question.  I faintly remember of stammering out something like, “I do love working with children.”  I then inquired as to his reason for asking. 

Once again he stared long and hard as though hesitant to say more, but did finally continue with: “We have a fifth grade room of slow learners at Bowman School, mostly black children from across the tracks.  We have tried four different teachers in that room, but to no avail!  The pupils locked a couple of them outside the room and the others in the cloakroom!” 

He then went on to say, “No one will accept the position, so we’re really at a loss as to what to do when school opens in the fall.”  Once again he gave me a lingering look, then followed with the shocking question, - - - “Mrs. Martin, would you consider taking over that room next fall?”

          Immediately, a thrill of excitement for the challenge welled up inside me, and without thinking, I blurted out, “I’ll be glad to take it over!” sounding far too confident for any human being!  As he stood to leave, he reached over and took my hand, thanking me profusely and looking as though a ton of bricks had just fallen from his shoulders. 

Then early one morning I awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in my bed, realizing this was the day I’d actually be going to that room.  Jumping out of bed, I quickly dressed, wondering all the while if I, too, might be locked out of that classroom as were the last four teachers,  Don kept reminding me I would be taking a big risk to walk into a place where even angels would fear to tread.

          We drove across town to Bowman school where we pulled up to a flight of cement steps that appeared about as ready to crumble as was I at that moment.  While climbing from the car, I began to feel tinges of fear, - - - tinges escalating from the very pit of my stomach. 

Nervously, I made my way down the long corridor and up the steps feeling like a martyr waling out to the lions.  As I sat in the empty room waiting, I finally heard footsteps like thunderbolts approaching my room. When I looked up, I was shocked to see that many of the boys, mostly blacks, towered over me.  It would take only one of those boys to rid this room of me," I thought. 

I was keenly aware of their stares as I cast an occasional glance across the room to see the whites of eyes staring up at me from all directions.  Fearfully, I prayed ever so hard, Dear God, what should I do to gain their respect rather than fuel and ignite their anger?"   Instantly and clearly, the answer came, Begin with prayer."