Thank You, Miss Rogers....

I dreaded the 'torture' of sitting through Miss Rogers seventh grade English class. At that point in life my primary focus was cheerleading and trying to persuade my mom to let me wear ridiculously short skirts, shave my legs and wear frosted pink lipstick.

Miss Rogers was stone-age by the standard of a junior high kid and, in my opinion, couldn't teach us a heck of a lot because she was too old. Gee, I imagine she was at least 60 so what could she know about life? She was an old maid who wore a 3 piece suit with stockings and heels to school everyday, had probably never been on a real date, she was proper beyond proper---even by a southern lady standard and, basically, just needed to get a life. Little did I realize then that Miss Rogers had a life.

Teaching English just wasn't quite enough for Miss Rogers. Her life was dedicated not only to educating but to shaping the life of her students. Every paper clip in Miss Rogers' classroom was lined up with a precision known only to a five star General and for the sake of teaching us common courtesy (her favorite word) she called us---the kids---Mr. and Miss So and So. Good citizenship and correct posture were mandatory in her presence and she didn't just make us read her favorite poems, we had to memorize them and recite them before the class. Sheesh. What a waste....I thought.

It had probably been decades since I had even thought of Miss Rogers until last week... when she made the local news. I found her name, 'Miss Lucille Rogers', and a few paragraphs detailing her life accomplishments listed among the local obituaries. My, what incredible works filled the space of that dash between 1912-2006. And a strange thing happened as I was reading of this remarkable little lady. Somewhere, way in the back of my mind, I thought I heard an old poem being recited. A poem that meant absolutely nothing then but, now, holds a message that is almost like a treasure. It's by Rudyard Kipling and it's simply entitled 'If'......

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

I wish I could thank you, Miss Rogers, for a lesson well taught.