Why Mrs. Atkinson is still teaching English

The lilacs were in full bloom, but I had geraniums on my mind.

I was cruising the back roads of Norwell, Mass., on a journey back in time. It had been 25 years since I laid eyes on Meredith Atkinson, my high school English teacher.

Now I was on my way to see her, wondering if she is still known for being a tough, demanding teacher -- and if she still lines the windowsills of her classroom with pots of pink and red geraniums.

It was in her classroom, somewhere between the bawdiness of Chaucer and the daily journal writing assignments, that I discovered my niche.

It was not what my parents had in mind.

"You should be a legal secretary -- there's good money in that," they advised. Then there was the whole flight attendant notion.

"Just think of all the free travel!"

Mrs. Atkinson knew better.

"Whatever you choose to do with your life," she told me as she handed me back my journal for the very last time, "don't ever stop doing this. There's a lot of good stuff in here."

Her words stuck with me.

I never stopped writing. And I never forgot Mrs. Atkinson. I first tried to contact her in 1998, to no avail. It was shortly after I had made her the subject of a column -- a belated "thank you."

I wanted her to know how a few encouraging words helped me find work I truly love.

In January, I gave it another shot. I plugged her name into an Internet search engine. Up popped some classroom assignments that looked eerily familiar. Mrs. Atkinson was still teaching just a few towns over from Weymouth, where I had gone to high school. I wrote her a letter and sent along my earlier column.

Within a week, she responded by e-mail:

"This came as a bolt out of the blue. A letter and article such as yours remind me of why I am a teacher and why it is such a rewarding career, and that kind of 'thank you' is far more important and meaningful than money. It's truly what gives meaning to teaching. I feel fortunate to still be enjoying my students, and to be constantly learning myself. Do you ever get back to Massachusetts? If so, I'd love to see you and catch up."

In mid May, I flew north.

Mrs. Atkinson, now 54, is much the way I remember her -- just a little gray now. In her classroom were just two geraniums: the only survivors of a recent frost.

I spoke to some of her students and told them the fact that I ended up at the St. Petersburg Times had much to do with what I had learned in their teacher's classroom. I told them to finish school, find their niche and focus on earning a living doing something they love.

High school kids can be a tough crowd -- particularly at 7:45 a.m. on the day of the prom.

Ever the mentor, Mrs. Atkinson helped pull me through. Her questions and comments guided me and put me at ease. I think I did okay. When the bell rang, we were surprised. It was over way too soon.

Then it was time to catch up.

We asked each other the "do-you-remember-so-and-so" questions and tried to cram 25 years into 45 minutes.

I learned that I wasn't the only former student to look her up. There was a classmate, now a police detective, who called to share how he was able to make good use of the tools she gave him when writing up his cases. There was another, a local doctor, who thanked her for encouraging him to travel and explore the world.

Then, all too soon, the next batch of students shuffled in.

"Are we interrupting you?" asked a student as we exchanged teary goodbyes and promised to keep in touch.

"Certainly not," said Mrs. Atkinson, giving me a final wave and turning her attention to her students, "This is your time."

Lucky them.

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