Mrs. F. was a fourth grade teacher at my own elementary school. She was never my teacher but I always noticed her. Back then, she seemed glamorous. She wore pencil skirts, her hair in a twist, and always lipstick and high heels. Last week, I saw her walking in my neighborhood. I see her from time to time, but today she had a walking partner. I did a double take when I saw her partner as they approached. It was Ms. Peters. My first grade teacher. I resisted the urge to run to them and hug her. I told my friend that I was walking with that I just saw my first grade teacher, but I decided not to say anything. I wish I had.

Today, after another ballet competition and many hours of a soccer jamboree, we made an impromptu visit to a diner. Everyone was tired and too hungry to go wait for the home cooked dinner that had been planned before the day got busy.

As I ushered my kids into a booth, making sure they were positioned for any unnecessary fighting (my oldest has not been very tolerant of our youngest lately) I heard a familiar voice say, “Hi Jessica!”

I turned to see a familiar smile, Mrs. L, my seventh grade reading teacher and her husband who had also taught at the middle school my husband and I attended. We chatted about my kids and career for a few minutes. I told her I was a literacy coach. “I followed in your footsteps.” I touched her arm, resisting the urge once again to hug a teacher. Mrs. L. said she didn’t want to keep us from our dinner, but I could have snuggled into the booth and chatted with her forever. Suddenly, seventh grade felt like yesterday.

My daughter’s retired kindergarten teacher is now a para educator at our school. Her slice of life posted on our school blog today. She wrote about what she learned about her mom after she passed. “At the time, she had been busy managing a household with five children while working full time. I don’t think I truly understood the weight of that until I became a mother myself.”

I couldn’t help but think about this as I thought about my own teachers, the heroes I looked up to and wanted to become. Back then, I never could have imagined all that they were juggling. The only thing that matters to me was that they cared about me and my classmates. Maybe that’s why I felt the strong urge to hug my teachers thirty years later, to let them feel all that I know and realize now. To say thank you.