My guest today is a sweet friend Author Shelley Shepard Gray who is writing heart-touching Amish stories for Avon Inspire. She has a story to share! Here’s Shelley:
“I’ve been so lucky to have met many women of character. Some have inspired me spiritually. Others have life stories which leave me breathless. Others have achieved so much, I know they’re an inspiration to many. However, some probably have no idea they made such an impression. Such as Miss Ritchie.
Miss Ritchie had a first name. It was Mary Ann, but it’s almost impossible for me to think about her that way. See, Miss Ritchie was my principal at Christa McAuliffe Elementary-the school in Texas where I taught for five years in the 1990’s. During the eleven years I worked in education I taught at six different schools in three states. Many administrators were gifted, all had much to share. But, for me, Miss Ritchie was special.
Maybe it’s because she was just so tough.
She was a nice lady, but demanding. Her standards were high-really high. She encouraged all of us to be the best we could, too. See, she thought of teaching as a wonderful profession-and assumed we felt the same way. She liked our diplomas hanging on our classroom walls. Men were required to wear ties. Women had to wear hose-even in ninety degree weather. She encouraged us to wear suits.
In short, Miss Ritchie was the type of woman you said ‘yes, ma’am’ to. Or, ‘yes, Miss Ritchie.’ Always.
I remember my first week at McAuliffe. I think I cried almost every night. Previously, I’d taught children who faced innumerable challenges. Children who hadn’t eaten breakfast. Who read below grade level and had never learned to add and subtract.
Suddenly, however, I discovered my fifth graders were a hundred and eighty degrees opposite of that. They were suburban kids with well-educated parents. They were sharp as tacks! Suddenly, everything I said was analyzed. Every paper I sent home was read and discussed. These kids were smart. They read at high school level. They spelled better than I did. They not only knew how to add and subtract, but were ready to tackle decimals and percentages. They were smart and inquisitive and college-bound-even in fifth grade. Oh, they were great kids-and boy, did they keep me on my toes!
But they also scared me half to death. I was so worried that I was going to make mistakes. Or that I wouldn’t be able to do enough for them. The other teachers in my wing assured me I was going to be just fine. They helped me and answered questions and gave me hugs.
But it was Miss Ritchie who gave me courage.
See, we had to turn in our lessons plans on Friday before we could leave for the weekend. Being a first year teacher there, those lesson plans took me hours. Objectives and homework assignments had to be notated, as well as a whole host of other items. Anyway, one Friday afternoon, when I was turning in my plans in the office, Miss Ritchie walked out of her office and took them from my hands herself. For a moment, there was complete silence at she looked them over. Looked me over. I still remember standing in front of her, feeling kind of ill. What had I done wrong?
Then she nodded. “You’re doing fine, Shelley,” she said.
For most, that would be faint praise. Sometimes, I think we all look for superlatives from others. That we’re great. Awesome. Terrific. But that ‘Fine’ from Miss Ritchie meant everything to me.
During the five years I taught at Christa McAuliffe, I went on two maternity leaves. We bought a house. And I grew up. I started becoming more confident. I started asking more of myself-and of the students I taught. Oh, it was never easy. And I didn’t always agree with everything my principal said or did. But I respected her like no other.
Eventually, my husband had got a promotion, and it was time to move to Denver. And, just like my first day with Miss Ritchie, I vividly remember my last. That last day, I could hardly function, it was so tough. Leaving the school was going to be so hard. But eventually, it was time.
I knocked on my principal’s door, waited to be invited in, and then awkwardly stood in front of her desk and made a little speech. I thanked her for giving me the job. And for my years there. Actually, I don’t really remember all I said. I’m sure it was flustered and silly. But when I was done, she stood up, walked around her desk, and gave me a hug.
I hugged her back and walked out with my head high. Trying to be as cool and as professional as she’d taught me to be. It wasn’t until I got to the privacy of my car that I cried.
Over the years, I heard Miss Ritchie retired. And then that she was sick. A few years ago, she passed away. Cancer, I think she had. She wasn’t the type of woman you wrote to, just to say hi. I didn’t call her up to see how she was doing. I didn’t send her Christmas or birthday cards. See, she had been my boss, I was a little afraid of her.
But ever since my days with her, I’ve measured myself and others to her memory. Rarely do any of us come close. But that’s okay. I think all of us need someone in our life at one time or another who instills a little bit of awe~who makes you want to be better than you ever imagined you could.
I’m very grateful I’ve had that pleasure. I’m very grateful for Miss Ritchie. Just as I imagine God is grateful for her now.”–Shelley
What a wonderful story. As a former teacher too, I know how much a good administrator can add or detract from teachers. Thanks for sharing that story, Shelley. I’ve also added the GORGEOUS cover of her latest release, Winter’s Awakening.–Lyn
