Her Name Was Gertrude

I started my third year of school as a quiet, shy and somewhat frightened young girl. My first year of school with Sister Rosetta had left me bruised both physically and emotionally. And for my second year of school I realized if I was going to make it, I needed to keep my head down and not draw any attention to myself. Then came third grade. Walking into the classroom I carefully chose my desk far enough from my teacher hoping I wouldn’t be noticed. But I was noticed. And it was that year of school that I finally understood I was safe. So let’s talk about Sister Gertrude. A kinder more gentler soul you will never find. I soon realized that not only was she there to teach us and guide us but she made us laugh. Just about every day. Funny things like “accidentally” sitting in the wastebasket instead of her chair. Or wearing a sombrero while she taught class. She made sure to accompany us to our physical education classes and our recesses. She played kickball with us and loved softball. I remember this distinctly as it was my turn to bat and she was the pitcher. I really didn’t want to bat at all but she coaxed me into it. And with her first soft pitch and the swing of my bat, mind you, with eyes closed, I hit the ball. I ran to first base, then second base. And then I noticed as my fellow classmates were lobbing the ball back to Sister Gertrude, she kept dropping it. And dropping it and dropping it. So much so that I hit a home run. Better yet, with my eyes closed. She threw her arms up and twirled around and kept singing at the top of her lungs “Kate hit a home run with her eyes closed”. Pretty soon the rest of my classmates were joining in and well, it turned out to be a very special day for me. By the time we returned to class she had written on the chalkboard in giant letters “KATE HITS HOME RUN AND HER EYES WERE CLOSED”. It remained there for weeks. I started to notice other classmates being showered with Sister Gertrude’s grace. It seemed to me that she had taken a handful of us and given us shelter. We were the ones who struggled, who were shy, who stuttered and sometimes cried. Or just seemed sad. Only a handful of us and I was one of them. But she would assign work to the rest of the class and then have us pull our little desks up close to her where she stayed with us throughout our assignment. Always there. Always there for all of us. Writing funny things on the chalkboard like “Benny winked at me today”. It was through this process that I experienced with her every day that I realized why I was in school and that I was going to be ok. That I was going to make it. I no longer had to worry if I was going to be humiliated or embarrassed or worse yet, slapped. It changed my path in life because I understood at the very young age of eight years, that I was important and noticed and mattered. To this day I remember Sister Gertrude as THE pivotal change of taking me (and others) from the broken butterflies we had become to the soaring beauties that flew higher and higher and higher. One of my mantras most every day, or maybe perhaps it’s just a prayer is “Thank God for Sister Gertrude”. ❤️