THE UNFORGETTABLE ONE

She used to always tap her fingers on the desk; an impatient little tap and enough to drive one crazy if you had to listen to it for long.

Yet she was a lovable person, with a few strange habits. They made her all the more special a memory for me.

We called her Ms. Broomstick, although her real name was Ms. Broomstile. She had been a teacher for at least a hundred years, and when speaking to you, she would never quite look you in the eye. She always hesitated between her thoughts, a little "UM" coming out every once in awhile to let you know she was still breathing.

When ever she sat at her desk, she would look at you, over and around you, as if seeing the whole class at once instead of focusing only on you.
You still had the feeling she was looking at and through you.

Her head would bob up and down while she listened to your excuse for not having your homework done.
"Right, right, right" she'd mutter as she listened to excuse after excuse.

Her morning routine seemed to be finger-tapping, head-bobbing, eye-wandering, all accomplished while plastering her hands with a weird smelling lotion.

I asked her once about the lotion, and she said that turning all the pages of books tended to dry her hands out, and suggested that if I ever turned the pages in a book she would be amazed if I didn't have to use lotion to. Actually, she said, she would just be amazed if I turned a page in a book. With that, she put on her permanent smile and her head bobbed a few times before she turned her one good eye onto the rest of the class. "Ahhh-huh" she said, ending my attempt at conversation.

She stood all of four foot one inch tall. A short little woman, some of her students were taller than she was. She never took a bit of guff from any of us, though. She told us she had nine grandchildren and that her favorite color was florescent pink. The latter we knew, for she wore a florescent pink hat on her head every morning when she came to school.

She must have spent ten minutes in the morning in the bathroom washing her hands. "Cleanliness is next to Godliness" she said with her permanent smile in place. Then she would go to her desk, and into her every-morning routine. For a 65 year old grandmother, she did pretty well at keeping us in line. I wondered what she was like as a young woman, and could almost picture her as a preppy blonde valley kind of girl, always smiling her clueless little smile.

She did accomplish her mission. We all learned to read, to write well, and to have respect for our elders. She instilled in us the courage to meet the demands of our changing world. Most of all, she taught us to love our country and ourselves. She was - a good woman, no, a great woman; and a beloved teacher in my eyes. For all her little characteristics, fondly remembered, made her one of the most memorable people in my life.

I laid down the paper. The obituary had been short and obviously written by someone who didn't really know her. I picked up the phone, dialed the florist and ordered roses - bright (florescent almost) pink roses. On the card, I asked them to write: Thank you for being a part of my life -