Mary McDonald peeked at me over the top of her glasses. Do all teachers do that...? Do I? 

“Go ahead, ask your questions, Rhonda.”

Mary settled onto the couch of the 3rd floor teacher’s lounge. It was where she and I spent most of our conference period every day. She was a well-seasoned, generously-shaped, black woman with more wisdom than stamina. Suffering from an advanced stage cancer, she needed rest as much as she needed my companionship.

I looked at the formidable list provided me by my instructors. Preparing to ask my first question, I leaned forward. I couldn’t wait to hear her answer to each we had time for.

Mary, called Micky D by many students, had already taught me a lot since I had come to student teach in her science class. Some of the pearls of wisdom she shared fell under the category of simple advice, like to always wear dresses with pockets, or to never leave the class unattended, but other things were deeper and more valuable. It was these bits of advice I hoped to draw out of her with the list.

I cleared my throat. "What is the one thing you feel is most important for me to know as a future teacher?”

Mary smiled and glanced over her glasses again. She granted me a wink before closing weary eyes.

“First,” she began, “always eat in the cafeteria. It endears the staff to you. Tell them it’s good whether it is or not, and they’ll pile food on your plate everytime.”

“Okay,” I said. It wasn’t quite the answer I expected, but I wrote it down. “Eat in the cafeteria. Got it.”

“That’s also where you pick up the best gossip.” Mary opened her brown eyes, a hint of sparkle chasing away fatigue. 

“Gossip,” I repeated. I put the word in parentheses beside my previous note. “Is there anything else you want me to add?”

“Yes, never hang out in the regular teacher’s lounge, you know, the one on the first floor where a bunch of people gather at lunch. All they do is gripe. The good stuff, information you can use, you hear from teachers and students as they interact.”

“And that’s in the cafeteria.”

“Yes.”

"Okay, thank you.”

I started to ask another question, but Mary’s eyes closed and her breathing grew soft and even. I rested my notepad on my lap and leaned my head back against the overstuffed chair. With the hypnotic breathing of my mentor, my thoughts returned to the beginning of my journey.

I had started as a Research Technician at UT Health Science Center, Dallas in a biochemistry lab. I enjoyed my time there, but had really wanted to go into healthcare. After two years, I left for nursing school.

I was a year away from graduation on a full scholarship when my uncle, a teacher in Houston, talked me into applying for an innovative program designed to alleviate Houston’s teacher shortage. They planned to accept 2,000 applicants into their Alternative Certification program, and out of that number, 200 would be chosen.

I thought, what the heck, it was a long shot. I already had a husband and a child at this point and was kind of tired of going to school. But, did I really want to become a teacher? I mean, they were the enemy, right? 

I heard a gentle chuckle. “I thought you were going to ask me more questions. You’re sleeping on the job.”

I sat upright and shook the cobwebs out. “I’m sorry.” I looked at my list again and hesitated.

“What’s wrong?”

“These questions are good, but they don’t help me find out what I really need to know."

"Then ask what's on your mind."

"How can I ever reach inner-city kids the way you do?”

Mary worked herself into a sitting position. “Rhonda, they’ll work for you no matter what color your skin is, or where you come from, if you respect them. Just because I’m black, it was never guaranteed they’d listen to me. I had to take each kid as an individual. 

“Let them know you care about them and their worlds. That’s the main reason I told you to eat in the cafeteria. It’s not just about the food. It’s more about the stories.”

“Oh, I see!” And I did see. I put my list of questions aside. I could fill them in later.

“One more thing,” she said. “When they give you nicknames like Mickey D, it doesn’t mean they disrespect you. It means you’re accepted, and no amount of questions on a paper can earn you that.”

I smiled and waited as she rose tentatively to her feet. Once stabilized, she nodded. She was okay and ready to go on. So was I.