She Changed My Life

It was 1974 and I was a sophomore at Harris High School in Hamilton, GA.  Most people know Hamilton because they pass through it on the way to Fantasy in Lights at Callaway Gardens.  “They”  have cut down the pecan trees that used to shade the front lawn and put in a parking lot.  Now it is Harris County Carver Middle School.  My last year there was 10th grade because my step-father felt like we needed to move every two years.

I was part of an educational experiment at that time called the Senior Personalized Instruction Lab (SPIL).  I was part of PIL (without the Senior) in 9th grade, so I was a natural candidate for SPIL. As a teacher, it frustrates me to look back on those years of programmed textbooks and no real instruction.  You might call it a pseudo-Montessori effort.  Still baffled as to what my teachers saw in me that I didn’t.

Our lead teacher (we will call her Ms. Smith) planned a class trip to Washington, DC, for all of the SPIL students.  I think it cost about $100 per student.  The catch was that we were going to take the train from Atlanta to Union Station in Washington, DC, to save money.  I have lots of memories from that trip, but only one that changed my outlook on life forever.

You may be surprised to know I was the class clown.  Before writing this is perused my 1973 yearbook from Harris County Junior High School and the 1974 yearbook to look at a few of the comments made by people I begged to sign my yearbook.  “Funny” was a common word through most of the short, meaningless quips.  Not “funny” in the sense it is used sometimes in this day and time.  I preferred to consider myself jovial and sociable, but my report card conduct grades may beg to differ with that assessment.

The school bus ride to the train station in Atlanta was uneventful.  Some of us had neither seen anything in Atlanta but the zoo and cyclorama, so this was a bit exciting.  Once we were aboard it became apparent that this was an overnight train, and we would not be in sleeper cars.  Yep, we would be in seats that did not recline all the way to Union Station in Washington, DC.

As you would expect every chose seats based on grade-level and friend group.  I found myself as usual with my group of friends.  We all settled in and ready for the trip to begin when Ms. Smith appeared beside my seat with a stern look on her face.  Before I knew “I didn’t do it!” came out of my mouth.  My four friends quickly vouched for the veracity of my claim, adding “whatever it is you think he did.”   Ms. Smith waved her finger at me and pointed to the back of train car.  I rose slowly from my seat and moved in that direction with my shoulders slumped, while I reviewed my conduct since the school bus left Hamilton, Georgia.

Somehow she arrived before me.  Either she teleported, or I was so deep into reviewing my deeds for the day I didn’t see her pass.  Once I arrived she turned me facing the front of the passenger car, and her back to all of the students.

“Ms. Smith you’re creeping me out here.  I am pretty sure my parents would frown on me being thrown from a moving train.  How would I get home?”

She chuckled to herself, smiled at me and said, “Relax Larry, you are not in trouble . . . this time.   I have a favor to ask.”

This really was creepy.  Her son was one of my friends, so I was wondering what could I do for her that she couldn’t ask her son?

“You know Sonia, right?”

Yeah, I knew Sonia (not her real name).  She was mean, unattractive, pimply and not someone with whom I wanted to be seen.  Before I could control my impulses, my head nodded yes.

“Everybody has taken their seats with their friends.  She doesn’t have any friends and nobody will sit with her.  Would you do me the favor of sitting with her on the ride to Union Station.”  Ms. Smith finished this with a smile and a nod as if she could by force of will make me say yes.

I just stared for a moment at her smile before replying, “Why me?  What did I do deserve this?”

Ms. Smith straightened in her stance and stared into my eyes (we were the same height).  “You are friends to some degree with everybody.  Larry, you even talk to people you know don’t like you.   Use what God has given to you and spend some time getting to know Sonia.  You can sit with your friends on the return trip.  Please do this for me.”

There it was.  She knew that would slay me when she said ‘please.’  The die was cast so to speak, although we were not at the Rubicon (look it up!)   You would say I had a choice.  No, I didn’t!   Ms. Smith had seen something in me that I knew was there, but had never really acknowledged.   She was calling on me as a man of honor to think of someone else before thinking of myself.  To say no, would be to deny who I had been raised to be by my mother and stepfather. (Upbringing, raisin’, what ya mama taught ya!)

“Sure!”  I replied and stepped around her to take my seat next to Sonia.

It took a few hundred miles before she got over the fact that I was sitting next to her and she started to talk to me.  Apparently, there was a rumor that cash was exchanged to get me to sit there.  I was honest and told her Ms. Smith asked me to sit with her and I said yes.  I took some ribbing from my friends, and the cool upperclassmen made fun of me.  But I held on to the fact that Ms. Smith had called on me as a man of honor to do a noble deed.

The train ride was otherwise uneventful, and the tour of Washington, DC, was pretty cool.   I came home with a better sense of myself.  To this day, I speak to and greet everybody who comes my way.  When I enter rooms, I look for the person who has nobody sitting with them.  That is where I sit.   My favorite people are the underdogs, the ignored, the misfits.  Ms. Smith and Sonia taught me an important lesson that day-It is Never About Me.  Everybody has value, and we can show somebody they have value just by sitting with them, standing with them, coming alongside them.

I have three initials written on my index finger most days.  INAM.  Why?  Those initials remind me these days that It is Never About Me.  It is about Christ in me serving others.  On that train to Washington, DC, I was a man of honor by upbringing.  Now, I am a child of the One True King by adoption.  A man of honor cannot deny himself.  INAM.