Ruth Marie Scarborough

She was born an only child, in a tiny southern Wisconsin village in Rock County, where her childhood was a lonely one. Her father had abandoned the family when she was only three. From an early age, her mother worked as a secretary and accountant to support the family. Little Ruthie spent long days with her great-grandparents, developing a "feel" for life more in keeping with the 19th Century than the 20th. Her weight plagued her; children teased her unmercifully. She read everything she could. She imagined worlds beyond the home farm. She reached out with her mind for the far reaches of the universe.

Trained as a teacher, like her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother before her, my mother worked instead in the offices of Edgerton-area businesses. But her greatest talent seemed to be making connections with the rest of humanity. She was the girl who sought out the "different" child in school, offering friendship when others only tossed verbal stones. Her friends discovered that she would be devoted to them for life. Decades would pass by, yet my mother's affection for those she cherished never dimmed. As middle age approached, she tutored troubled youngsters at the schools I attended. She discovered a "housebound" woman, too obese to leave her chair except to make for her bed, and became this woman's essential link to the rest of the world. A frustrated architect in life -- a woman who had helped design her own home -- my mother became builder of a local community. She organized Halloween parties for the neighborhood and my tribe of friends that are still legendary. She crafted gatherings for my family that helped define what a family ought to be.

And throughout her short life, at almost every turn, she was (almost always) supportive and caring and kind. She never doubted my worth as a person and never questioned by ability as a writer. In a world where nothing is truly certain, she convinced me that I mattered. She told me that I could amount to something and, because she said so, I believed her. Six years after her death, it is due to her that I have the heart and the grit to change careers in my life's mid-stream -- to take a risky chance on the unknown and become a teacher.

These are just a few reasons why, at least to me, Ruth Marie Scarborough was one of the world's most gifted teachers (and why she will always be my hero). I learn from her elbow yet, every day. Because of her, I shall strive to remember, always, that my students are human beings first, last and forever. To many teachers, these young minds waiting to discover the world can be only names scribbled on a seating chart or numbers in a gradebook. Thanks to my mother, that will never be the case for me. My mother taught me to be who I am, always, and to appreciate that humanity in others. What else can you ask of a hero than that?

I will hold her forever in my heart and ask God to hold her in the palm of his hand and keep her safe. There will come a time, Mom, when we'll laugh about everything again. Until then, know that I love you and miss you. I'll let my new students know all about you. As long as my memory is green, you will not die.