“A teacher affects eternity; they can never tell where their influence stops.” — Henry Adams
When I found out that Mrs. Kartevold was going to be my sixth-grade teacher, I was less than thrilled. She had a reputation for being strict and demanding, and to my 11-year-old self, that didn’t sound appealing at all. I imagined a year filled with rigid discipline, no-nonsense, and certainly no fun, except maybe at recess. Life has a way of teaching us lessons in unexpected ways, though, and Mrs. Kartevold became one of the most important teachers I would ever have in a totally unexpected way.
That year, my world was turned upside down (again). On Christmas Day of 1963, my Dad was admitted to the hospital with advanced lung cancer that had spread to his brain. My mother had passed away five years earlier, so my brother and I went to stay with my dad’s brother and his wife. They lived in a rural community 25 miles away, so it wasn't going to be the convenient 2-block walk to school that I was used to. Since my uncle worked for the same school district I attended, he would drop me off at school in the morning and pick me up after work. The problem? His workday ended much later than the school day. My brother was at another school a few miles away, so our uncle dropped him off there and we weren't able to be together after school.
That meant I had to stay after school every single day... alone with Mrs. Kartevold!
I dreaded the idea. Spending 2+ extra hours in the classroom with my stern teacher? It seemed like an unfortunate fate. But something surprising happened. Away from the structured environment of the classroom, I got to see a different side of her. Though I don’t remember our specific conversations, what I do remember is this: she was kind. She was patient. I'm sure other arrangements could have been made and she didn’t have to stay late with me every day, but she did. She didn’t make me feel like a burden. Instead, she made sure I had a safe and quiet place to be during one of the most difficult times of my life.
Looking back, I realize how much that experience shaped me. Before that year, I had judged her based on what other kids had said and what I saw on the surface. But Mrs. Kartevold taught me that people are more than their reputations, their public faces, or the assumptions we make about them. She was strict, yes, but she was fair and very compassionate. My Dad died that May, and I can't think of anyone I would have rather had as a teacher that year.
Years later, when I was an adult and settled into a good job, I decided to write her a Christmas letter. I wanted her to know how much her kindness had meant to me. To my surprise and delight, she wrote back. She told me she remembered me well and thanked me for reaching out. I was grateful I had taken the time to let her know how much she mattered.
A couple of years later, I received a note from her daughter letting me know that Mrs. Kartevold had passed away. She mentioned my letter, making it clear that her mother had shared it with her family. That simple letter had meant something to her, just as her kindness had meant everything to me.
It’s easy to make assumptions about people based on what we see on the surface. But if we take the time to really get to know them, we might just discover something wonderful. Mrs. Kartevold taught me a lot that year, but the greatest lesson wasn’t about spelling, geography, or arithmetic. It was about understanding, about kindness, and about seeing beyond first impressions. I also learned later how much a single letter can mean.
And for those things, I will always be grateful.
This is my first entry into the March Challenge hosted by Patricia Feager and Lew Corcoran
Featured in BananaTUDES
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