Mrs. B

Today’s blog is dedicated to a very special person, one who cared for a child not her own, and cared enough to save that child from a desperate life.

Mrs. B was an elementary school teacher. She was fun and well-respected, and her students loved her. This year, she had a new girl in class. The new child seemed different from the rest – she didn’t make friends easily, didn’t seem to grasp social skills very well, and behaved very oddly at times. Mrs B took note of this new student and began to learn more about her. She noticed that the girl rarely brought snacks for ‘party day’ and that when she did, it was a small box of raisins. This seemed odd to Mrs. B, since the girl constantly seemed to be hungry. While the other second graders shoveled their lunch down as quickly as possible in order to get outside for recess, this girl spent her entire lunch hour in the cafeteria – chatting with the cafeteria workers and eating second and third helpings. That might make more sense if the child was overweight, but she certainly was not. Mrs. B didn’t know what was going on, but something didn’t seem right.

One day, she asked the child and discovered that things at home were not right. The girl told Mrs. B how she spent her time at home locked in her room or outside, and how she was fed a small bowl of cereal each morning and a peanut butter or cheese sandwich for dinner, every day. She told Mrs. B about her special cup under the bathroom sink where she could get a drink of water if she was inside and her door wasn’t locked, and about the delicious-smelling meals she could hear her parents and younger sister enjoying in the evenings. She talked with love and longing about her grandparents, the Papa she loved and the Grandma who was such a wonderful cook. The child told Mrs. B how much she loved being with her grandparents, because she was free to be with them, play, eat, and not be harshly disciplined.

Mrs. B asked the child about discipline in her home, and was shocked at the answer. The child told Mrs. B that she was spanked for crying or for being bad, and especially for having accidents on the expensive hallway rug if she couldn’t get out of her locked room to make it to the bathroom on time. The girl told Mrs. B about her chalkboard, and how the hash marks on the board represented how many nights in a row she would be spanked, depending on the severity of her transgressions and how many hash marks were already on the board. If she cried excessively during the punishment, she said, more hash marks would be added. She also told Mrs. B how sad she was that she would be punished if her little sister came into her room, because she loved her little sister very much and couldn’t understand why they couldn’t play together. Mrs. B asked the girl to make her a chart for a week, showing what food she ate that week. The child seemed excited to do this special job for her teacher, and worked to make her chart as pretty as possible, drawing pictures of her cereal and sandwiches every day.

One day in November, residents of the town woke up to a thick blanket of snow. The snow prevented the buses from running, so the administration chose to keep school open for those kids whose parents could bring them, but called all the parents of bus riders to let them know that the buses would not be running. When the girl walked into her classroom that morning, very late, she was soaked from head to toe and shivering uncontrollably. Mrs. B seated the girl on the counter where the heater vents were located, with the rest of the class staring, and went to talk to the counselor. They called the girl’s stepmother to bring dry clothes, and the counselor decided to talk to the girl and find out why she was cold and wet. The girl seemed confused as she said she had been waiting at the bus stop in the snow all morning for the bus to come, but then her daddy came home and took her to school instead. She didn’t understand why the bus hadn’t come, because she felt as if she had waited a long time and no one else was waiting outside on her street. When the girl’s stepmother arrived with dry clothing, she seemed very annoyed and the counselor could hear her yelling at the girl as she changed, telling her how many marks she would get for interrupting her day like this. The counselor and Mrs. B knew what the marks meant, and they were determined not to let this little girl continue to live in these wretched conditions.

Mrs. B and the counselor set an evening meeting with the girl’s parents, determined to see for themselves what was going on in the home. When they arrived at the house, they never saw the girl, and they had clear evidence that this environment was not healthy or safe for her. Mrs. B and her colleagues gave the parents an ultimatum: stop the abuse, or find the girl a loving home , otherwise they would be reported by the school to the authorities to be prosecuted for child abuse.

The day after Christmas, it was all settled and arranged. Mrs. B and the counselor met the girl and her parents at the school and watched as they loaded the girl’s toybox and a few possessions into the car of a family who had agreed to take her in. Mrs. B hugged the girl goodbye and gave the girl her address, so they could keep in touch even though the girl was moving away. The girl was confused and sad to be leaving her family, but the decision had been made. After the visit from Mrs. B and her colleagues, the girl’s stepmother had given the girl’s father an ultimatum too: get rid of the girl, or she would leave and take their young daughter with her. The father had to choose between leaving his oldest daughter an orphan, since her mother had died two years earlier, or losing his wife and youngest daughter. He chose to stay with his wife, so the girl had to go. He arranged for a couple from their church to take her; they very much wanted a child but were unable to have one.

The girl was frightened and sad, and she didn’t understand why her daddy didn’t want her anymore. She loved her new family, but there was a sadness in her heart that followed her everywhere, and within six months she was moving into another home with a relative, feeling completely abandoned and unwanted. She kept in touch with Mrs. B for a while, but eventually she stopped writing to her.

Now, the girl is a woman, a mom, a wife, and she recognizes how different her life would have been if Mrs. B hadn’t cared enough to find out her story and had the courage to help change it.

The girl is me, and Mrs. B was my second-grade teacher. I can’t say how she feels about what she did, or even if she remembers the awkward little girl whose life she changed forever. What I can say, however, is how thankful I am that God put her into my life at that moment. Thank you, Mrs. B, from the bottom of my heart. Your courage and compassion will keep you always in my heart and my prayers, and you’ll always be a hero to me.