"Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered," said the Ghost. "But she had a large heart!"
The Ghost of Christmas Past is speaking of Scrooge's sister, Fan. Fan has just come to a young, school-boy Scrooge to rescue him from spending Christmas at school, alone. She is all hugs and kisses, full of youthful energy. Her love for her brother is evident, and the older Scrooge, watching the scene, is deeply moved by the scene.
My senior year in high school, I had an English teacher who effected the course of my life deeply, much as Fan effected Scrooge's life. Coming across this description of Fan in
A Christmas Carol, I was reminded of Mrs. J. She was also a "delicate creature," tiny and slight. In the year that I knew her, despite her stature, she always seemed to have a vibrant spirit. She loved the music we students were listening to. (It was the 1980s. All the music was good.) She chaperoned dances. Oversaw the drama club. At Christmas time, she made us read
A Christmas Carol in class, and then we watched a film adaptation of it (the George C. Scott incarnation).
She was my favorite teacher. I got into the habit of going to her classroom after the final bell rang, visiting with her while she packed up her belongings. I shared my writing with her. Short stories. Essays. Poems. I talked about wanting to be a professional writer. She listened and never made me feel like any of my dreams were unrealistic. Her husband was a university English professor, and she forced him to read my writing.
I would carry her books and bags down to her car for her. Her classroom was on the third floor of the school. When she walked down the three flights of stairs, she would sometimes have to rest between flights, to catch her breath. I never thought much of it. She was tiny as a sparrow.
At the Senior Awards Ceremony, Mrs. J named me Outstanding English Student. I still have the index card on which she wrote her comments about me. She started crying at the end of the presentation. Mrs. J really did have a large heart.
Unfortunately, her heart was weak. The summer after I graduated from high school, Mrs. J had to have open heart surgery. She never made it out of the operating room. I got a phone call from a friend in July or August, telling me of Mrs. J's death. It took me a really long time to get over it. I didn't take the route Scrooge took after Fan's death. I didn't shut the world out and distrust everybody. However, there were many nights spent alone in my bedroom, listening to music in the dark. (OK, I've always had a melancholy streak, even back then.)
This morning, as I took my stroll with the Ghost of Christmas Past, I remembered how much Mrs. J believed in me. How she saw something special in my writing. How she made me feel like a writer when I was just a stupid kid.
Saint Marty still misses Mrs. J.
