Love Letters to my Educators: Physical Education

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

– Maya Angelou 

Introducing my new series, Love Letters to my Educators, focusing on exactly this. 

Picture this: a small Catholic school in the southeast. The year was 2003. Plaid skirts and tan suede bucks only – no nail polish, no hair accessories, no jewelry allowed. White cinder block walls and blue and white checkered linoleum floors. A crucifix and a clock in every room. 

An announcement was made: we would be getting a new P.E. teacher. We were all eight years old and imagined getting what we had always seen and always had: you know, the real Ted Lasso type. But into the gymnasium walked our new P.E. teacher, wearing a sharp maroon tracksuit – ‘Coach’ – an African American woman. 

New teachers are always in a tough spot. Kids try to push buttons and see how much they can get away with, but she won us over immediately. She had the perfect balance of high expectations for us matched with a soothing presence. There’s no better way to put it than that we were completely enamored with her. Her spirit was unlike that of anyone any of us had ever met. She carried herself with confidence and always had an air of mystery – plus the biggest, brightest smile and contagious laugh. 

She frequently changed the way she wore her hair and we were fascinated. We asked, “Coach, how did your bob grow to long braids down your back overnight?!” 

“Miracle Gro” she responded with a wink. 

She would give us all nicknames. Mine was “Hot n’ Trot” – an ironic nickname to give a low-confidence, kind of chubby, not so popular 3rd grader. But she saw within me what we all saw within her – confidence exuded and boundless Grace. She made us feel seen, appreciated, and believed in.

She even brought in a low country boil for us one day – crawfish, corn on the cob and all.

What stands out the most and what has stayed with me the longest was when she would sit us all down criss-cross applesauce on the gym floor. 56 pairs of blinking baby eyes staring up at her and in her commanding voice start with “God, grant me the serenity” – and we would chime in, 

“To accept the things I cannot change. The courage to change the things I can. And the wisdom to know the difference.” Sometimes we wouldn’t even be sitting down. We would be outside playing in the parking lot or on the field during the perfect sunny day, and catching us off guard she would start, “God, grant me the serenity” – teaching us to pray in both bad times and good. To constantly count your blessings and express gratitude. 

To my knowledge, the Serenity Prayer isn’t a traditional Catholic prayer, and without her I may have never learned it, memorized it. I have clung to it my entire life. Weathered some ugly storms… 

August 23, 2005: Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans, her home, where all of her family was. It was the very beginning of the school year, and she had to leave. We were absolutely crushed – there were tears. None of us wanted to say goodbye. It was truly the end of an era.

The impact she had on me, on all of us, was massive. Someone who can make such a lasting impression in such a short amount of time obviously knows more. Wonder, mystery, confidence, gratitude, Grace (with a capital G) – all things that remind me of Coach. She only had us for a few hours a week 20 years ago and I think of her regularly. 

It’s why I decided to share this. 

Write a Love Letter to your Educator. I triple dog dare you.