(Editor’s note: Welcome to Living Eulogies. All recollections are accurate in the author’s mind only. Apologies in advance to everyone who has different recollection of the same events. Send all complaints to your local Applebee’s. Do not ingest.)
Back before the whole “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten” thing became a thing, I was learning all I really needed to know in kindergarten from a woman who opened up incredible new worlds from me … and kept me from freezing to death.
It’s interesting to me that when I think about Mrs. O’Loughlin (I’ll never be able to call her by her given first name of Janet), I don’t see her as much as I feel her.
That’s not half as creepy as I just made it sound. Let me explain.
What I remember about Mrs. O’Loughlin’s appearance is that she had long, straight brown hair and wore dresses that today I associate with hippies. Whether she was or wasn’t a hippie is nothing I know for sure, but it was 1979 and she sure as heck could have been a leftover hippie of sorts, and so that’s how I see her.
Those images are faint in my mind. But how she made me feel as a 5-year-old new to formal education is not. I still feel the same way today when I think about Mrs. O’Loughlin or when we chat on Facebook Messenger: Safe.
Looking back, I can see why starting public school was a challenge for me. I was a kid with outsized feelings who would learn as adult about 35 years later that I was this thing called an empath and, thus, was a sponge for other people’s emotions. I realize now that, had I had a crappy kindergarten teacher, my entire future could have seriously flown off the rails.
Mrs. O’Loughlin was not a crappy kindergarten teacher.
Mrs. O’Loughlin was calm, supportive and, in a time when this didn’t conjure up anything inappropriate, intensely loving of her students. She patiently taught us the basics that would serve as the foundation upon which I’ve built my life.
Mrs. O’Loughlin taught the alphabet through The Letter People. In my recollections, these were puppets on a video that made learning letters fun. Along with these videos were workbooks, and on the front of each in bumpy, sand-like material was the letter itself. She would have us trace the letter under our finger so we not only saw it but felt it.
It was a big-freaking-deal in the life of a kindergartener when the week came where the letter with which your first name started was front-and-center. It meant, if I remember correctly, that you had a hand in picking what the snack would be one day that week.
Mrs. O’Loughlin guided me through learning letters and words and sentences. This opened up entire universes for me to which I would frequently escape as I grew. Without her making learning letters fun, I never would have learned to love reading, and I never would have discovered my love of writing. As much as Mrs. Tulin was the spark who ignited my career as a writer, it was Mrs. O’Loughlin who put the tinder down for the spark to catch.
That alone would be more than enough for me to have undying gratitude for Mrs. O’Loughlin, but there’s more.
I remember one day in which we were getting ready to leave for the bus to go home, and I was attempting to put on my winter coat. She taught us an inventive way of getting your arms in the right sleeves by putting the coat upside down on the floor, sticking your arms in and then flipping it over your head. It worked every time.
What I didn’t have was a trick to accomplish the whole zipper thing. We couldn’t leave for the bus that day until we zipped up our coats because it was bitterly cold outside. I fumbled and fumbled and fumbled, unable to attach the two halves and connect them all the way up. I remember feeling scared, frustrated and stupid.
And then Mrs. O’Loughlin appeared in front of me, on a knee down at my level, looking me in my tear-filled eyes. I wish I could remember the exact words, but I remember it something like this:
“John, relax. Take a deep breath.”
I did.
“There. Now take another one. In slowly, out slowly.”
Again, I did.
“You’ve got this. You can do this. Take your time. Don’t worry about missing the bus. You’re not going to miss the bus. I promise you.”
I nodded softly.
I remember her taking my hands in hers, guiding each one to the two parts of the zipper and helping me get the little nub in the right place. Then she slowly moved the pull-thingy upward.
“I” had done it.
“Just remember, John. You can do this. Just take some deep breaths if you get frustrated.”
That advice worked for zippering my coat, and it’s worked on a lot of the frustrations in my life.
And so it is that when I think of Mrs. O’Loughlin, I don’t see her. I feel her. And it’s not creepy at all. It’s one of the best things in life that there could be.
So I’d like to raise a glass to Mrs. O’Loughlin, though that feels really strange because I guess that’s how drinking a beer with your kindergarten teacher should feel. To the one who gave me The Letter People, reading, writing, warmth and safety … Hear Hear!
Who should be the next Living Eulogy? Email me at johnagliata@gmail.com.
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