Dear Mrs. McWhorter,
I must apologize. I have been remiss in keeping in contact with you over the years, and now this is the only medium I have to express my thoughts regarding our time together in the early 1980's at Cedar Bluff High School.
I can only hope you would have remembered me as you were my only science teacher during my three-year tenure as a student there. I can still see you behind your lab table endeavoring to impart to us the building blocks of life and the fine art of combining chemical equations (which I still cannot do through no fault of yours).
I greatly admired you, Mrs. McWhorter. You were always so elegant and ladylike. You rarely got upset and when you did, it was more along the lines of "I'm very disappointed in you," rather than any real anger. Even when, after being hit with a softball, I threw up on your beautiful, suede, high-heeled shoes, you never lost your cool. I think I knew, even then, that I wanted to be just like you when I grew up.
I remember so many of your lessons, even though I was not the most stellar of science pupils. And I remember lessons that had nothing to do with science. I remember dissecting earthworms and grasshoppers. I remember freezing (and thawing) goldfish. I remember hatching maggots. I remember making protective viewers to watch a solar eclipse. I remember being the pilot class for marine biology. I remember being in a class of three and you trusting us to do labs on our own. I remember your story of blowing up a frog in the vent hood (and wanting to try it). I remember being the one lucky enough to get to clean the salt water tank (and learning that certain fish will eat sea urchins). I remember completely dissolving a scrub brush in pure bleach thinking I was simply disinfecting it. I remember the smell of formaldehyde. I remember missing out on anatomy and physiology because no one else wanted to take it. I remember melting glass rods trying to make little animals. But most of all, I remember being at home in your classroom.
That feeling, Mrs. McWhorter, is what I try to give my own students. A sense of belonging, of being somewhere safe with someone who shows them, not so much the mechanics of being an adult, but the art of it. What gentleness and kindness look like in action every day. How to be a lady, no matter what.
I miss you, Mrs. McWhorter. I wish I could sit with you and thank you for all that you gave to me and to the rest of your students. But...I waited too long, and this is all I have left. Hopefully, somehow, somewhere, you're aware of this letter, and know how much you were appreciated during your lifetime. Thank you.
Love,
Kimberly Oliver Edmondson (80-83)
