A Tribute

In 1995, I was a junior in high school at the Northfield Mount Hermon School in western Massachusetts. I spent four years immersed in one of the most fantastic environments for education. I lived with my teachers and friends in a place where there was never a lack of encouragement and support. 

We had choices in the classes that we took, choices that extended beyond what language we decided to study, and we had limited choices in the teachers who taught the subjects we were most drawn to. One of the classes where there was little or no choice was English class. At the start of each year we would tear into our schedules with anticipation to see who we would be spending the next year of the academic year with in English class. Some teachers were infamous for their English classes. One of those women was Audrey Sheats. 

Audrey was known as being tough. Really tough. And not just in the assignments she gave, but in a tough love kind of way. I remember my heart sinking when I opened my schedule on an otherwise perfect September afternoon at registration to see that it was with Audrey that I would spend the next year of English class with. Thankfully, my roommate and best friend Erin was also placed in her class so I knew I would have solace in at least her presence. 

The first book Audrey assigned was The Sound and The Fury. The first assignment was merely chapter one. Sa-weet, I thought, chapter one? That's it? How can she possibly be as bad as everyone says? But I was young and naive and had never read any Faulkner, let alone a book like The Sound and The Fury. 

Walking into her class that first day I saw a group of faces who were equally as confused as I. What, on earth, was that chapter about? And didn't she know we were juniors in high school and not English lit majors in college???? I began to get the sinking feeling that I was in for a year of..well...hell. 

How delightfully wrong I was. Audrey lived up to her reputation of being remarkably difficult in terms of how she stretched and exercised our brains. An hour in her class was exhausting, but over the course of the first weeks of the semester, I realized just how lucky I was to be part of this experience. She was hard because she knew just what 16 year old brains are capable of when given the right coaxing. She was hard because she lived and breathed and loved the books she chose. We meandered through the Sound and the Fury, A Yellow Raft on Blue Water and myriad other titles she chose for us that year. Over spring break, we chose our own book to read and do an independent study for. I chose Love in the Time of Cholera, mostly because of her suggestion to me. Gabriel Garcia Marquez continues to be one of my favorite authors to this day. 

I found myself, over the course of the year, looking forward to class with Audrey. I knew never to arrive unprepared or I would face the wrath of her stern verbal lashings. Toward the end of the year, when students were deciding whether to apply for some of the AP classes NMH offered, Audrey approached me and asked about my plans for AP English. I remember looking down and saying I had not really thought about it, but didn't think I would get in. Her eyes lit up and she took my hand and told me how wrong I was. That it was in Louise Schwingle's AP English class the following year that she saw me. I lacked confidence in those days, but she reached me. She believed in me, and she told me that. She said it would be a waste of a year if I did not try. 

Lo and behold, it was in Louise's class where I found myself the following September. Just as Audrey has envisioned. And it was another breath taking year of a class with another woman who I've come to realize meant to much in my continued education. When I sat for the AP exam toward the end of my senior year, I wrote my essay on Love in the Time of Cholera and scored a 5 on the exam, all thanks to Audrey. 

I read, with a very heavy heart, this morning that Audrey passed away this past January. It gave me great pause and allowed me a chance to reflect on the four years I spent at NMH, the people who have continued to influence me, and the profound loss her passing is on the community. Audrey was tough and passionate and caring and intellectual and supportive. She inspired confidence in me and she will be missed.

Friends

We get lost in life. We get lost easily. In work, in relationships, in the grind. We also have those rare nights when we're reminded of just how fantastic life is. We surround ourselves in all of those things that are meant to be fulfilling--everything that makes life...life.

In these hard economic times, we forget the simple things. The beauty of spring, the sun on our faces, coming home after a day of doc review to cats, who, may or may not, love us unconditionally.

Most importantly, we sometimes forget the power of laughter, and friendship, and love.

I've met a lot of people in my life, and I've held on to friends from most phases of growing up. Facebook makes it easier, but the true friends are those who you make an effort to see, to connect with on a basis that exists beyond the world of the internets.

One of my favorite people from law school is back in D.C. this weekend, and we had the opportunity to bring a group of folks together, some of whom I've not seen since graduation. And for the second time in a week, I found myself sitting, surrounded by some of the most astoundingly brilliant people I know, laughing. Good and hard. Hard like a rain that comes after a drought. Hard to the point of tears. Hard to the point of reminding yourself that you are alive.

There is nothing more healing than laughter, particularly that that comes from the heart. And there is nothing more conducive to that than sitting with people who just understand. They understand that we're lucky to have jobs, but hate the jobs we're in. Who appreciate the humor in immoral clients when we were promised that we would never work for immoral people again. Who, at the very core, understand the inner struggle of wanting to make a name for ourselves, but also crave those dusty lands that exist in Kenya, Afghanistan, Darfur and beyond. Who support when they don't even know just how supportive they're being.

Life is good. But it is hard. We struggle individually with things that go unsaid. Family, loans, unemployment, fear of being unemployed, fear of not knowing of this is where we're meant to land.

But collectively, we laugh. And support.

Tonight, I looked up at my group of friends who had gathered, and was touched, and thrilled and giddy in knowing that these people, this fabulous group of people, were mine. Not in a possessive sense, but in a comforting sense. We closed the restaurant down, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and we moved on, jovial, without having the day to day questions running through our minds.

Life can be uncertain, and it, right now, is quite shaky. Most of us wake up unsure of what the next answer will be. But the comfort, the great hope, the overwhelming joy exists in knowing that we are part of a group of people who get it.

I am blessed with the people with whom I call my friends. And I know whatever comes down the line, I will always have them.