A Letter From Miss Sas: Thank You, Ms. Johnson

Dear Friend,

Yesterday gave me a gift I never saw coming.

And the funny thing is... it all started with a door hanger.

A friend asked if I'd mind dropping one off on my way to New Orleans to pick Squatch up from work. The customer lived right along my route, so I told her I didn't mind a bit.

Then she told me who the customer was.

It was my kindergarten teacher's daughter.

Now, most people probably couldn't tell you who their kindergarten teacher's grown children are all these years later.

But I grew up in Webb.

Back then, if somebody asked where you were from, we'd usually laugh and say, "Webb... you know... the town with a caution light and two stores—the Red Store and the Green Store. If you blinked, you'd miss it."

But what Webb did have was Webb Jr. High School, and let me tell you... when you're six years old, being able to tell people you go to the junior high school is kind of a big deal. 😂

It wasn't like schools are now.

Webb Jr. High was kindergarten through eighth grade. Every grade only had about twenty-five or thirty kids split between three teachers. You didn't just know your teacher. You knew everybody's teachers. The PE coaches knew every kid in the school, the lunch ladies knew your name, and everybody knew everybody's parents too. If somebody's mama walked into the office, nobody had to ask who she was. If somebody's daddy pulled into the parking lot, chances are everybody knew whose daddy it was.

Looking back now, I don't think I realized what a blessing that little school was. It didn't really feel like a school. It felt like we all grew up together.

My Mama was always up there helping with something. Nowadays she'd probably be called the Room Mom, but back then she was just little Miss Sas' Mama with a little extra time and a lot of willingness to help. All the teachers knew her almost as well as they knew me.

But Ms. Johnson was a little different.

Our families became friends outside of school too. Our Miniature Schnauzer, Skittles, had puppies with their Miniature Schnauzer, Beau, so we always joked that we were "in-laws." 😂

Years later, she moved from the Big City of Dothan to Webb, and we ended up going to church together.

She never really stopped being my kindergarten teacher. She just became part of my life. I've told Squatch, Bubs, Diva, and Bee stories about Ms. Johnson and her family for years. I don't even know how many times she's come up in conversation.

So when I messaged her daughter to let her know I'd be bringing the door hanger, she told me she had to work but Ms. Johnson would meet me instead.

Y'all...

I don't know that I've ever been so excited to deliver somebody else's package.

It had probably been close to twenty years since I'd seen her.

But the minute she smiled... there she was.

The same sweet woman who welcomed a nervous little five-year-old into her kindergarten classroom.

Only this time... I got to introduce her to my girls.

She'd seen pictures of them on Facebook through the years, but she'd never met them.

Watching her hug Diva and Bee...

Well... that just hit my heart in a way I wasn't expecting. It was like two completely different parts of my life finally met each other.

On the way home, both of my girls said the same thing.

"Now we understand why you've talked about her all these years."

And that made me smile.

Because they finally got to meet the woman they'd been hearing about all these years.

The older I get, the more I realize teachers probably never know what becomes of all those little kids they spend their days loving.

They don't know which little moments stayed with us.

Or which words gave us confidence.

Or that decades later, one of those little girls might still be talking about them.

Before we left, I hugged Ms. Johnson.

Then I hugged her again.

And then again. 😂

If I'm being honest, I think I hugged that woman five or six times before we finally said goodbye.

Every hug lasted just a little longer than the one before it.

Like somehow I could squeeze twenty years of missed visits into a few extra seconds.

I don't know if she realized what those hugs meant to me, but I sure hope she felt it.

Because sometimes "thank you" just doesn't seem big enough.

So...

Thank you, Ms. Johnson.

Thank you for loving a little five-year-old girl who walked into your classroom all those years ago.

Thank you for helping shape the woman she grew up to be.

And thank you for giving me one of the sweetest mornings I've had in a very long time.

Memory Lane can be a funny place.

Sometimes it makes you smile.

Sometimes it makes you cry.

And every once in a while... it lets you hug someone you've been missing for twenty years.