To this day, I remember the aloneness of recess in first and second grade. Loneliness is not the right word – loneliness indicates a yearning for connection. What I was aware of feeling was different – I was alone, and confused at why these kids wanted to play with each other. I often stood with my back against the brick wall of the school, watching my classmates play kickball or tag, and trying to figure out why. When the whistle would blow indicating it was time to head back inside, I felt relief. The work of the classroom was so much more comfortable.

My mother loved me but it was complicated. She loved alcohol more. She tried so hard to love both of us. There were times of great joy – tobogganing down the back hill together, encouraging my love of words, even teaching me to read music with the sheet music to Christmas carols. But there were absences and terrors too. After a certain point at night, for example, she was consistently unresponsive – usually she’d make it to bed, but not necessarily. My father worked the graveyard shift, so if something happened at night, it was my responsibility to make sure my brother and I were safe. Then I really was lonely – I craved my mother’s presence.

There’s a spirit inside us that leans toward love like a flower to the sun, a built-in mechanism that pushes us toward connection.

~Mary Gauthier, Saved By a Song

My first grade teacher, Mrs. Ferraro, loved me in a way I leaned right into. First grade was particularly hard because I barely spoke, although I could read and write and do basic math. I may have been gifted, but I was “special” too – selectively mute, I’d nearly given up on speech. When I did try to talk, I stuttered and had a lisp. The school was ahead of its time, and I was given speech therapy.

Mrs. Ferraro gave me a lot of one-on-one time, and would quietly praise my work. Oh, how I remember the gentle weight of her hand on my shoulder! I fell in love with school, in spite of the recess turmoil. In the classroom I was loved, and by third grade my yearning for connection expanded to include my classmates. We could play tag on the jungle gym (a structure I flew around like a bona fide monkey) or four-square with the playground ball. I began to connect.

I think that connection grows more connection. Love grows more love. It’s not a perfect correlation, but what my teacher did for me was a gift. I strayed – there was a time where I felt love but did not live it, giving into my own demons instead. But today I try very hard to pass on what Mrs. Ferraro gave to me – gentle, unconditional love.