Dear Janet,
It’s been a while. Eight years, I think. That’s more than half of my life. I can’t say I think of you often, as much as I want to—maybe because it is easier that way—but when I do, I think of how I never wanted the story to end. Two school years are too short a time for a child to find a best friend and let her go. And yet, as I was the child, and you the friend, I found myself saying “goodbye for now” and leaving forever.
Do you remember how scared I was on the first day? I hid behind my knees and stared with wary eyes at an unfamiliar world. You coaxed me out of my shell through love and geniality, and, with gentle strokes, you painted in my mind a picture of how school was supposed to be. You were my teacher in every sense of the word. But beyond that, you were my pal. You treated me with respect and humor, and you never lost sight of my dreams, no matter how naïve or small they were. For in your eyes, there were no small dreams, only small dreamers. I was one, and you made me believe that.
I just realized a strange thing. I knew you for two years—I learned to read, write, and treat others with kindness under your guidance—and I never knew your last name. To me you were just Janet.
Our school was Pathfinder, and each class had a title. For ours, you chose Salmon. This troubled me. After all, how could a lowly fish compare to a Cougar, for instance, or a Wolf? (These were two other class names, ones I particularly envied.) So, to make sense of the name, I imagined the Salmon as not a lowly fish, but a glorious and powerful creature. I did research in the class library, and I found that Salmon were symbols of perseverance, swimming upstream for miles and hopping up cliffs to return to the place they were born. But they were also creatures of sacrifice, for when they arrived at their destination, they birthed new salmon, continuing the cycle of life, and then died. And once their eggs had hatched, their carcasses gave their offspring nutrients that were essential to their survival.
I was fascinated. I reveled in the glory of the Salmon, and I boasted to my Wolf and Cougar peers. I was proud to be a Salmon! It was the greatest honor I’d ever known.
But, alas, while you and I were admiring the class pets (salmon alevin) curiosity overcame me. I asked my teacher, my friend, why she had chosen the Salmon to represent our class.
What she said then, in that moment, has stuck with me all these years. It has been my mantra in life, and perhaps, even in death, it will be still, carved in bold lettering on my tombstone. This is what you told me:
“Because they taste good.”
The last thing I can remember saying to you is that if first grade ending meant me leaving you and the Salmon class, then I wanted the schoolyear to last forever. You simply smiled, took my hand, and walked with me to the door. I walked on, knowing even then that nothing could last forever, and you remained at the threshold as if to say, “This is as far as I can go, but I am with you in spirit.” And then, as I left, I looked back and saw your smile for the last time.
Years later, when I was in a different school where all the teachers were Misses and Misters, Pathfinder had a celebration to honor your life. Like a salmon returning to the riverbed of its birth, I eagerly came to the place where I was reborn so long ago, and I was amazed by just how many people had come to pay their respects to their former teacher and friend. You may no longer be with us, but your effect on the children of the world is still here, and strong. You have given yourself to your students, and so you give us a chance at something greater than ourselves, a chance to change the lives of others, to do what you did. For that, and for staying with me in spirit, I say, “thank you.”
-Levon