Stories about hope

My favorite teachers were my second-grade teacher, Mrs. White, My 6^th grade teacher Mr. Trenton, My History and Choir teacher, Mr. Gus, and my friend and Bible teacher, Dr. Baloian (Bruce). 

Each of the names above had a significant impact on me. 

Bruce taught me how to study the word of God, was my mentor and like an extra Dad. 

The first walked through my darkest hours when my actual Dad passed away.  

I loved second grade because I loved Mrs. White. But I hated second grade as well. 

She didn’t know. 

Mrs. White saw me sitting at my desk, I was crying. 

The blonde girl made fun of my clothes, I likely was a disheveled mess, so I maybe can’t blame her. Also, how do second graders know how to handle things like a classmate’s father dying. 

I’m not sure Mrs. White knew what and transpired in the last few weeks, maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. 

Mrs. White asked “Edris, what’s the matter?” 

The little blonde girl spurted out with a laugh. “Her dad is dead”. 

I was horrified. Why did she laugh? How could she be so flippant? Why is she so hateful? 

She likely wasn’t hateful, she likely just didn’t understand.  I mean, do seven-year-olds really understand much about loss, kindness and compassion? 

I was the youngest child in a family that just suffered an immense loss. My Dad, our hero succumbed to Melanoma. 

The class grew silent. I don’t remember much about what happened after, but I do remember several little girls getting up from their chairs and surrounding me. 

One of them was YOU!

My son met his wife at church, specifically on a high school outreach trip to San Francisco. 

I met his wife a few years earlier in the 2’s room at church 3 years earlier. She was 12. Dressed in overalls and braids, she walked up to me with a confidence that surprised me. “Hi, I’m your helper, my name is Ariana”. Maybe I fell in love with her before my son did because she reminded me of that little girl that had surrounded me back in second grade? 

The relationship between my son and daughter had to wait until Ariana’s family knew Evan’s family better. 

So to help expedite the getting to know you process I went to Ariana’s 16^th birthday. I drove my son and a few of his friends to the beach and stayed for the party. Somehow it came to light that I was raised in the San Fernando Valley, like you were. We knew we attended Rival High Schools, we knew we were Dodgers fans. But that is where we left our common life experience. 

As our kids fell deeper in love and their relationship progressed from dating, to engaged, to married, the topic of schools became more common. 

Yes, we both went to different High Schools and Junior High. 

“You ALSO went to Nevada Avenue Elementary?”

I remembered Mr. Trenton and Mrs. White’s names but that was all. You didn’t remember if you were in class with me but you recognized Mrs. White’s name. 

It wasn’t until the unthinkable happened and you were cleaning out your precious mom’s belongings after she passed away. 

A picture was found. 

The text came from Ariana. “Is that YOUUUUU?”

Yes indeed, it WAS me. But more importantly, it was when your daughter pointed out the adorable little girl just a few frames away from me that my memories came flooding in. 

I don’t remember us being friends. But I remember you, standing next to my chair, hand on my shoulder and kindness in your eyes.  

God is hilarious. How did two seven-year-olds from the same second grade class end up at the same church in Orange County? As High Schoolers, we even worked at the SAME mall. More importantly, how did our kids meet and fall in love, and how did we not realize this until a week or so ago? 

I mean, we share GRANDKIDS!!

That is something that will make me smile for the rest of my days. 

Thank you for raising your daughter to be the woman she is, the mom she is and the friend she is!

Happy Birthday sweet Lea. I’m so thankful for you. And I’m praying God carries you this next year.