This is a true story about how relationships can change a person's whole life and the importance of being a good friend.
The first day of sophomore year was promising. I walked into an unfamiliar church building to begin my first day at a new homeschool co-op. I was leaving my co-op home of 6 years and starting at a new one with no friends, only my two younger sisters, was an adventure in itself. My first class was American Literature.
I walked timidly into the Sunday school room full of strangers, seeing my new teacher, Mrs. Lin, at the front of the room by the white board. She was about the same height as me with long dark blond hair and she seemed to be fairly friendly—most of the other students already knew her. To me, everything was unknown and uncertain. I sat down and did the assignment—a little card about myself—and Mrs. Lin went over the rules for class. Then it was over; that was my first literature class with Mrs. Lin.
Earlier that summer my mom told me the names of my new teachers: Mrs. Clemenson, Mrs. Ford, and Mrs. Lin.
“Is Mrs. Lin Asian?” my first question was very blunt.
“No, she’s married to a Chinese man,” was my mother’s reply.
Mrs. Lin was to be my new literature teacher. I’d always liked to read—my favorite books were the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series. I liked to read action, adventure and fantasy novels. Classic literature could be quite boring. The literature classes I’d taken before 10th grade were always too easy—they were not up to the caliber of an avid reader, no matter how much I didn’t like Charles Dickens. However, American literature soon became my favorite class. The girl who couldn’t stand Dickens was now reading Hawthorne with delight. Mrs. Lin was passionate about every book we read, and it helped me become passionate about it, too.
Our classroom moved a couple weeks into the school year to what would be its home for many months. The room was painted beige with a few pictures on the walls and there were two rows of white rectangular tables. Mrs. Lin had her whiteboard set up at the front of the room and we students sat in cold metals chairs at the tables. Arguments and jokes could often be heard before and during class amongst students and teacher.
I learned so much that first year with Mrs. Lin. I fell in love with Ray Bradbury, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Edgar Allen Poe. I learned how to write a decent essay and learned that I had a knack for grammar. Mrs. Lin was the right mix of sarcastic friend, firm instructor and encouraging mentor. I was not expecting to come back to that co-op as a junior, so I wrote Mrs. Lin a long goodbye letter, expressing my gratitude for all the time she’d invested in me. However, 10th grade was just the beginning.
Junior year came and I found myself back in that familiar class room, though it was now filled with new faces. When Mrs. Lin and I both had a free period, we would sit and talk in her classroom. She would grade papers and I would do the reading assignment. We would argue about who was the best Disney prince—she loved The Little Mermaid so she would always say Prince Eric, while I voted for Flynn Rider.
During one of these conversations, Mrs. Lin mentioned that she and her husband weren’t able to have children—that made me really sad. Mrs. Lin would be a great mom. My grief over this didn’t have to last long, however. On my seventeenth birthday, Mrs. Lin announced that she was expecting. That was probably the best birthday gift I’d ever received.
Junior year went by too fast along with its World War II project that had me arguing with the guy who did his project on Germany (I was the U.S.S.R.) and had me throwing A Tale of Two Cities against the wall in rage (that French guy was so rude!). More goodbyes had to be said, though this time I knew I would see Mrs. Lin again.
Mrs. Lin started teaching out of her house when I was a senior so she could spend more time with her new son. So the first day of class I walked into an unfamiliar place. It was a small house that seemed backwards to me—the garage was in the back of the house. Mrs. Lin answered the door when I knocked and I walked in, greeted by another student already seated in the living room. The house seemed even smaller on the inside but it was clean. There were two couches and a big chair. Mrs. Lin set up her white board in front of the TV and we began the adventure that is AP Literature.
The beginning of the second semester of school, Mrs. Lin moved to a bigger house. I helped her paint her kitchen and her living room. The red paint she used in her kitchen made us look like we’d just fought a battle, but that made it more fun.
Class began again smelling a little like the chemicals in paint. Our new classroom (the living room) was purple and there were fresh, new wood floors. Mrs. Lin taught in the corner next to the back door where occasionally her two dogs would peek through to see us.
This new house became like a second or third home to me. I’ve never thought of home as a place, but more as a person—and Mrs. Lin was one of those people to me. Wherever she was, I felt comfortable. I sometimes brought her coffee and she would listen to my problems, giving me sound advice as I fed her little son Cheerios. The dogs would circle our feet and eat the Cheerios the baby dropped. Her house was a place where one—where anyone—could feel safe and comfortable enough to be themselves.
That second semester, I started coming to Mrs. Lin’s other literature class. I knew some of her students and soon I earned the nickname “intern”. I dreaded the coming end of my senior year—I’d have to leave Mrs. Lin for good this time. She had become such a close friend. However, Mrs. Lin was to teach a creative writing class over the summer, and though I couldn’t take it, I was planning on visiting as much as possible.
When I graduated, I gave Mrs. Lin a long letter of gratitude and a shirt with cats on it—she hates cats. The summer came and I tried to come to visit the creative writing class often. I would come early and help her set up. The summer was probably the most influential time in my life with Mrs. Lin. She gave me college advice and advice on how to be an adult—which was very helpful since I’m very afraid of responsibility. She also offered to put down that I was a legitimate intern if I wanted to put it on resumes or college applications.
The last time I saw Mrs. Lin was at McAlister’s, where she took me out to lunch. I couldn’t help but feel like this was the end. I knew I’d see her again, but I was moving on—to college and real life. Without Mrs. Lin, I most certainly would not be an English major. Not only because she loved literature and shared her passion with me, but also because she became my friend—a true, genuine friend and mentor that cared about me and my life. I became an English major because of the great relationship I had with Mrs. Lin—relationships can change people more effectively than any event.
So, in a crowded restaurant that smelled like bread and soup, I said goodbye to Mrs. Lin and her one-year-old, knowing an important era in my life was over. However, a new one was just beginning.
