I Love to Write

Ramblings of a Retired Mind - Miss “B” A re-post from EP

The year was about 1959. I was in high school. I was a very good student in grammar school, but for various reasons I tossed all that and fell down on the job in ninth grade. Puberty and the teen years were very dark periods for me…I was depressed and sad which left me with little interest in school. I felt my life was crap. Actually it WAS crap, there’s no sugar coating for crap, either it is or it isn’t. Our family was, as it would be described today, dysfunctional, to say the least.

Anyway, enter English class and Miss B. I remember her full name but I’m going to omit it here because it has little relevance to this story. Miss B was, well, to put it kindly, aesthetically challenged. She was quite possibly the least attractive person I had met and at my very young and naïve age that was a grievous sin. I disliked her right from the get-go. By her facial expression I expect she wasn’t too thrilled with us either.

She was very tall, taller than average for a woman, with reddish, frizzy unkempt hair. She wore no make-up and her face seemed to be splotched with some very large freckles. She wore her skirts very long, just above the ankle, to show shoes that some people refer to as “comfortable”, which often means oxford style, almost like men’s. She didn’t walk, she “strode”, chewing up ground like a horse. She was very wide at the middle and her skirts billowed out like curtains when she moved. Once in a while one could see two very spindly legs underneath.

I don’t remember ever seeing her smile and I wondered what would motivate her to appear every day to try to teach us the finer points of English and literature. I judged her right away as just one more teacher who could double as a prison guard.

Our boredom coupled with her appearance caused students, myself included, to mock her behind her back. I don’t know what I was thinking as I certainly was no beauty queen myself but hey, that’s a teen for you. One day we passed notes in the back of the classroom, several of which made jokes about her. After several successful exchanges, the notes escalated and I think we lost our minds for a minute and forgot she was even in the room. We obviously had begun a competition about who could write the meanest things, then whammo! She caught us. I thought I was going to pass out.

She collected all the notes and instructed some to schedule private meetings with her after class. I knew I was dead meat. If she didn’t beat me, my parents would. I was embarrassed by my meanest and cruelty not to mention mortified knowing she had read what I said. I figured no way would she have understood that after a few notes, they ceased to really be about her, they were about acting out some kind of anger and rage that a lot of us had pent up. I know I did for sure but I wasn’t aware of that until much later.

As for our appointment, I don’t remember facing her or much about the conversation. She had every right to be angry about the cruelty and my participation and I expected the very worst. I had no idea what the very worst would involve, but I expected it was going to be very painful. What I do remember was Miss B asking me if I wrote. That question seemed to come out of nowhere and I was a bit confused. I replied no, I never did. She then asked me if I would write to her, as many pages as I could and about anything I wanted, just write.

“Um, sure”, I said, rather hesitantly and still waiting for the other shoe to drop. That was it. Done. It blew me over that she was not looking for revenge. She didn’t look angry. None of my expectations were realized.

I was bewildered and could think of nothing else all the way home. Would she be grading my submissions? I couldn’t imagine her intent but when I got home, I wrote. I wrote copious pages and surprisingly I didn’t run out of subject matter. It just went on and on, falling out of my head and pen until the wee hours. It didn’t let up for perhaps a week or more, I’m not sure now, but I know I gave her several letters. She never commented on any of them, she didn’t answer them or grade them, in fact, none were acknowledged at all. For all I knew, she never read them. It didn’t really matter. I was exhausted or better put, “spent”. Then I realized that I felt better. I didn’t know why at the time. No, I wouldn’t know that either until much later.

So what came of that experience? First off I learned not to be so quick to judge others. Under that seemingly sour exterior was a caring individual who understood that we were acting out and was genuinely concerned. More importantly she made me feel she was interested. She may have been the first to do that.

I learned true beauty is inside. True beauty is vulnerable and perhaps it needs an unattractive exterior so as not to be abused. I knew then that the most beautiful may very well be the best disguised.

I learned that I matter and that I have worth. Even when I do something bad, I can rise above it.

I learned how therapeutic it is to unburden oneself by expressing feelings, something I'd never done before. Thoughts and concerns are put into words, forming a cohesive picture that can be analyzed and scrutinized. Since then, I moved from writing about my experiences to imaginary ones, both to entertain myself and others, but mostly to sort out emotions and examine human nature.

I learned that one shouldn’t wait for the best time to say thank you. All that happened almost 60 years ago. I was about 15 and Miss B looked to be about 45, maybe older. No doubt she is gone now. I hope, wherever she or her spirit is, that she knows that the understanding she showed and the helping hand she extended made a deep impression on me and taught me a bit more about myself and how I might help myself and others in the future.

Case in point: This story. Thank you, Miss B.