A story for all the elementary teachers out there, and one in particular, who literally helped shape the direction of my life.
Art by Pete Whitehead
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Story performed by: Aaron Calafato
Original Music Composition & Performance: thomas j. duke
Audio Production: Ken Wendt
Original Art: Pete Whitehead
Podcast Coordinator: Cori Birce
Creative Consultant: Anthony Vorndran
We were standing at the front of the Church, about to go in for the funeral, and I didn't know what direction to go, right or left. Do I sit with friends and family? Do I go with guests and acquaintances? I didn't want to screw up, and I was just standing there, paralyzed by choice.
Cori was with me to support me. She looked beautiful, beautiful dress. Her hair looked nice, makeup, and I had a suit and a blazer on. We were dressed up, really, for the first time in a long time because it was in the middle of COVID, so we had our masks on really tight. I was sweating, nervous. I didn't want to get sick.
But I wanted to be there for several reasons. I wanted to be there to support my friend TJ, who, when I looked to my left, was sitting in the front pew, and his shoulders were slumped. It was hard to see him that way. I could see how bad he was hurting. And his girlfriend Grace had her arm around his shoulders, kind of consoling him.
And I saw in the casket where Grandma Brown's body was. Now, Grandma Brown was TJ's grandma, but I was also there, not just to honor the life of Grandma Brown and what she meant to TJ and his family, but also because we didn't know this until we became friends in high school. But TJ's grandma was also my first grade teacher, and I knew her as Mrs. Brown.
Now, Mrs. Brown was my first grade teacher during a really difficult time in my life. I was about six years old, and my parents were in the midst of a divorce. And it was really tumultuous at home, lots of fighting, screaming, and honestly, everything around me as a kid felt like it was falling apart. And I didn't know this at the time. Maybe it's just looking back on it now, but really, Mrs. Brown's classroom was really the only structure and certainty that I had for that year.
And thinking of it, I think she did a really great job because she was tough and structured and didn't let me get away with shit. But she was also compassionate and kind and didn't crush my spirit. She gave me some leeway when I was acting out. She could tell that something was going on, but she also redirected me and let me know, like, "Hey, I know you're upset or trying to act out, but here's the reality. You got to be able to control this, and there's consequences for your behavior."
I didn't like it at the time, but she really was that guardrail, if that makes sense, for the direction of my life for that year. And I was really struggling academically, too. I could read really well, and I was, I think, pretty intuitive. But the one thing I was really having a hard time with and really pissed off about was that I didn't know my right from my left.
And this really pissed me off because all the other kids knew their right from their left. And there's all these different methodologies that they show you how to learn it. You can just learn from your hand or your leg or your foot and I tried all these different things, and I could not figure out my right from my left. And it was always an issue. Go right, go left, and people would make fun of me. "Aaron, go left." And I'll be like, "Oh, damn it." It was hard.
And I remember sitting in Mrs. Brown's classroom, first grade, middle of a tough year, and crying, because I could not grasp this concept. And Mrs. Brown saw me while all the other kids were at recess and my hands covering my head and just sitting at the desk trying to figure out some way to learn how to do this. She walked up to me while I was sitting at the desk, and she knelt down. She had a flower print dress, curly puffy hair, and these little circular glasses.
And she said, "I can help teach you your right from your left if you're willing to learn." And I said, "Sure." And she said, "Well, we tried all these different ways, but have you ever tried using your memory?" I said, "No." She goes, "Okay. I want you to close your eyes and can you picture yourself sitting exactly where you're at in this classroom?" She says, "I want you to fill in your brain like a painting and just fill up the space in your brain and picture yourself in this classroom, in your brain, in your imagination. Can you do that?"
I said, "Yes." She was, "Okay. Do you see the chalkboard in front of me?" I said, "Yes." She said, "Now, I want you to think about the wall on your right." And she guided my hand and showed me where the wall was. And she was, "Can you see the bulletin board on that side of the wall? Can you see the pictures? Can you see all the art projects? Can you see that in your head?"
I said, "Yeah." And she really placed me there, right in that room. And I could see the right side of the room, all of the stuff she was describing. She goes, "Anytime anybody tells you to turn right, I want you to see the wall in that side of the room in your brain." I said, "Okay."
She goes, "Now, I want you to visualize the left side of the room. Do you see the window?" I said, "Yes, I can see it." She said, "Do you see the trees outside of the window and the wind blowing through the leaves? Can you see the car way out in the distance through the window?" I said, "I can see." She said, "Anytime anyone tells you to turn left, I want you to picture the window in that side of the room."
So from that moment on I knew my right from my left. In fact, to this day when driving, walking, going anywhere, if someone says,"Which way do I go, right or left?" I actually have to, for a millisecond in my brain go back to that classroom sitting at my desk and I have to look at either if it's the side where the wall is at, and I almost have to transpose what's in front of me and make sure that it matches up either the right side, which is the wall, and I know it's right, or the left side, which is the window, and I know it's left, and that's how I know.
So coming full circle as I'm standing at Mrs. Brown's funeral looking at her body in the casket, Corey says, "You go right or left?" And at the front of the Church, I had to just look out and I placed myself back when I'm five years old, six years old and with Mrs. Brown kneeling next to me, her hand and my shoulder, helping me paint the classroom in my brain so I know what direction to go.
And I told Cori, "Let's go left," and that led me right to the front pew, where my friend TJ was. He stood up and I gave him a half-smile and pulled him in for a hug, and we hugged each other for what felt like a very long time.
