I didn’t have a clue:
It was a Mexican Restaurant. Our waitress had mastered her craft years before and my family was enjoying the benefits. She was quick, happy, smart and attentive. We never thought about it twice.
After the food was delivered she popped back for the standard check in.
“Mr. C, I know you don’t know me, but I know you. I don’t go over to the school much. I am the mother of Raven, RJ and Raymon you have been their library guy forever and they love you. But I want to thank you because two years ago I was convinced Rayray would never read, he hated school, and books and his teacher. I don’t know what you did Mr. C but we have talked about it many times and all my kids believe you’re the reason they read.”
So Dessert is on me Mr. C and thank you.
She didn’t linger, she just smiled, nodded at the tear in my eye and then went to serve another table.
I knew her kids, a little better than some, but no more than most. I don’t remember being special to them, or trying extra hard. I didn’t have a clue.
That may be my teacher epitaph… if so, I can live with that.
One of the best and worst parts of our job is that we are, to some extent, clueless.
The work is important all the time. I am only important some of the time.