DO-OVERS

       

  Have you ever witnessed that moment when two people realize that they actually know each other?  A beautiful reunion from the distant past elicits such an expression of wonder and excitement.  I got to watch such a reunion at work when a customer realized that one of my co-workers was her high school math teacher the very first year that she taught.  "You used to have the longest, most beautiful hair!" she recalled with a nostalgic expression.  That's what caused me to remember my young, beautiful first grade teacher, Mrs. Scargle.

          As the child of missionaries, I was able to begin the first grade in Abilene, Texas because we were back in the States on furlough.  Mrs. Scargle was so kind and soft spoken that she was elevated in my mind almost as high as Haley Mills, although no one could attain that status entirely! I must give her full credit, because I was not an easy child in the classroom.  This was before the days when ADHD was diagnosed so frequently.  Had it been, I could easily have been the poster child.
                 Mrs. Scargle had a way of lowering her volume instead of increasing it when the classroom began to get too loud.  It worked every time.  I would see her speaking, but could not hear her over my own voice and I would pipe down so I wouldn't miss anything.  If I became too rambunctious, she would calmly make her way to my chair and put her hand on my shoulder to soothe me.  That worked too.  I was so eager to please her that all she had to do when disciplining me was to tell me how disappointed she was in my behavior and I was devastated and determined to do better (for at least 5 minutes).  
          But "incidents" seemed inevitable. Like that infamous game of Duck, Duck, Goose.  I promise it was an accident!

            My best friends in the class were boys.  I honestly don't know why, but it was undeniable.  A girl (let's call her Debbie) was racing around our game circle trying to catch my good buddy (let's call him John) when I noticed that she was gaining on him.  That was unacceptable! John must NOT be caught! In desperation I reached my hand behind me to slow her progress as she flew past just in time to grasp the hem of her dress. RIIIIIIIP!  The unmistakable sound of fabric tearing filled the playground. I quickly let go of her dress, but I had torn most of the skirt clear off of the bodice.  I was horrified, but of course I couldn't undo the damage.  She huddled in Mrs. Scargle's arms sobbing over her damaged dress while my hero, the beautiful and sweet Mrs. Scargle, tried to keep the fabric modestly over poor Debbie.  My goose was cooked. I was so sorry, but all the other children were glaring at me and I had no defense.  The disappointment in Mrs. Scargle's eyes as she talked to me later was almost too much to bear. 
           The year had its ups and downs. One highlight concerned my birthday party.  Since we had been living in Japan for years and my parents did not really know the other parents at school, they sent me to school with 12 Birthday party invitations and instructions to carefully hand them out to my friends because we couldn't afford to ask everyone to come.  I did as instructed. When my party day finally arrived I was so excited.  I got to wear my brand new party dress with the pretty sash in the back, and the back yard was all set up for games and cake.

     My friends started to arrive.  John, Billy, Andrew...one by one they came until all twelve were there, and not one girl was among them.                                   We moved back to Japan and I had many incredible teachers.  But there was never anyone like Mrs. Scargle. I wondered where she might be after I grew into adulthood,  but there was no internet back then, and I knew that I would probably never see her again.  Imagine my surprise when I discovered one day that I was to have her daughter in a Sunday School class I was teaching!  My work as a radio news reporter had brought me back to Abilene, Texas, and I had agreed to teach the eighth grade girls Sunday School class in
 my new church.
           I had worked in radio long enough to consider myself unflappable with nerves of steel. But when I realized that Mrs. Ann Scargle was a member of my church and I would be teaching her daughter, I was beyond scared. I had nightmares about tearing someone's dress.  
          Sunday morning arrived and I was careful to look my best and be on time (it had to happen one day).  I had the opportunity to meet my ten young girls including Julie Scargle.
          They probably didn't know how petrified I really was.  We spent some time in introductions and I presented the lesson for which I had carefully prepared. We laughed and enjoyed the hour together and I mentally congratulated myself on the stellar job I was doing. 
          One of the girls arrived late and we had to squeeze another chair into our tiny room, so I pushed the door closed to create a space for the new chair.  When it was time to break so we could attend the service I reversed the process. The only problem was that the door knob fell off in my hand and the door would not open. We were trapped!  We had been having such a great time that we were the last small group to finish. No one else was in the outer room to hear my awkward pleas for release. (this was pre-cell phone of course)  I don't remember how long we knocked and banged on the wall for our release, but it felt like eternity to me.  I realized that all hope of creating a brilliant first impression with Mrs. Scargle was surely dashed.
          After the church service that day I had my reunion with Mrs. Scargle.   
           She was still beautiful and soft spoken.  She was also very gracious about my inauspicious beginning as her daughter's Sunday School teacher.  After all these years she was still encouraging and kind. We don't always get "do-overs" in life. Unexpected reunions are like "do-overs".  Despite the fact that I did not get to present myself as mature, perfect, and qualified, I cannot deny that I was myself, and Mrs. Scargle was still loving and gracious. Everybody should get a "do-over" sometime.