The âMayflowerâ I write about today is not about the ship crossing dark waters, facing severe storms, carrying cargo and pilgrims escaping religious persecution. It is not an event of the 1600âs but rather the 1900âs. The guiding force is not the captain of the ship, Master Christopher Jones. It is Miss Annabelle Mayflower, a teacher extraordinaire whose guidance led the way for many children as they tried to fit comfortably in the world around them. I was fortunate to have been one of those children in that magical classroom.
Miss Mayflower was an English teacher, and I met her as a new student transferred from a school in another neighborhood in mid-term. I felt awkward and uncomfortable, not knowing any of the other students and having to face an unfamiliar teacher. This was sixth grade, and I was 11 years old and a rather timid girl, even under ordinary circumstances. If only I had known then that the first day in Miss Mayflowerâs class was my first step to an entirely new awareness, I would have gracefully welcomed it without a trace of anxiety.
It has been said the good teacher explains, the superior teacher demonstrates, and the great teacher inspires. Imagine a teacher who embraced all three.
The children in my class had the advantage of knowing Miss Mayflower months before I did. My new friends, Laura, Elsie, and Theresa told me how everyone in fifth grade wanted her as their next teacher. Laura said she was drawn to her because of her name. Elsie and Theresa thought she was beautiful. What I did not know then and know only too well now is that the fruits of a teacherâs lessons can be invisible for many years before adulthood, and then reappear at the most meaningful of times.
I had the good fortune of living about two blocks from school, which gave me the opportunity to walk those two blocks each day at lunchtime with Miss Mayflower. Our neighbor, Mrs. Vorsanger, prepared lunches for some of the P.S.77 teachers. I felt so proud and excited to walk next to her and actually talk to her outside of the school walls. My mother suggested that Miss Mayflower should walk back to the school after lunch with her teacher companions. Mom said it would be the polite thing to do. I was disappointed, but Momâs judgment was usually right.
I may not have remembered all of Miss Mayflowerâs words, but Iâve never forgotten how she made me feel on this particular day. I wish I could remember the question she asked me and the name of the story we were discussing, but I remember my answer: âShe should not marry him, because if he really loved her, her happiness would mean more to him than his own.â Miss Mayflower looked at me and her eyes opened wide and she said, âDear Girl, expressing this feeling to me and the rest of the class at the age of 11 assures me that someday you will become a woman of meaningful importance to others.â
I remember the sound of the rain hitting against the windows in our classroom accompanied by flashes of lightening immediately followed by loud claps of thunder. It looked to be a dismal day for all of us. Miss Mayflower was usually sitting at her desk when we entered the room, but she wasnât there this morning. We were beginning to get restless in our seats, and even the boys who were throwing blackboard erasers around the room quieted down. When the door opened, there was our teacher, dripping wet and carrying shopping bags filled with books. She announced to us in an excited voice while hanging up her drenched raincoat and hat that the library has donated a copy of âLittle Womenâ for each one of us. Most of us squealed with delight except for the boys, who would probably have preferred the stories of Jack London, which Miss Mayflower assured them is the next book on order. We were to read our books in two days and be prepared to discuss it during the following week.
Reading âLittle Womenâ transformed me into a reader for life. I opened the book, headed for my room, read those famous opening lines, âChristmas wonât be Christmas without presents,â sat down, and didnât get up for hours. Discussing it a week later with Miss Mayflower and my peers made it all so alive. Each one of us saw ourselves in Jo, Meg, Amy, and Beth, which I donât think we would have been able to recognize without our teacherâs talent to awaken our feelings about ourselves.
Annabelle Mayflower makes a continuous appearance in my lifeâŚsometimes as obvious as when the huge moving company van passes me by on the road. Other times when I arrange a vacation to the Alcott Home, Orchard House in Concord, Massachusetts, to draw me back to âLittle Women.â The most touching memory is when I envision her fervently taking off her drenched coat and hat with the thunder and lightning storm in the background and the shopping bags filled with books.
