She has a beautifully unique name, but for reasons I couldn’t begin to explain, I called her “Petunia.” She moved in halfway through my first year of teaching with scars on her heart that I would sometimes see evidence of even if I never knew the cause. But more than any of my other third graders, she shared my sense of humor and we enjoyed playful banter during our time learning together. Her name was mentioned many times over dinner along with the other students who brought joy to my days and who made that year so special to me. At the end of the year, she wrote me a little card, in the way that third graders do sometimes, and she signed it, “Betunia,” having misunderstood my nickname for her this whole time.

She kept in touch in the years since, this beautiful flower of a child. With her easy smile and gentle heart she would stop by my classroom to say hello, share a hug and catch me up on what she was doing. Sometimes months would go by between visits, sometimes years, but I only needed to say, “Guess who stopped by today?” and James would know from the smile on my face that I had seen “Petunia” again.

Yesterday, she sent me another email, catching me up briefly on her life. A college senior now, majoring in a well-suited field of psychology, I have no doubt the positive impact she will have on people however she chooses to apply that degree. In her update, she shared that she had proudly bought her first car, including a picture of her beside it, and telling me that she named the car, “Betunia.”

I sobbed the entire drive home, not just for the wish that I could share that with James who would understand instantly what an impact this had on me, but because I’ve been searching for my “why,” searching for my purpose, searching for my reason to stay in teaching or my reason to make a change, and she just handed it to me. Again.

Maya Angelou is credited with very wisely saying, “People may forget what you say. They may forget what you do. But they will never forget how you made them feel.” As teachers, we hear this quote so often it has perhaps lost its impact. Until we turn it around and realize, it’s also how the students make us feel, too.

Petunia’s gifts to me in this life are immeasurable. She tickled me with her third grade freckles and easy laugh and she delights my soul now with her heart of gold. She is my reason for teaching. She and all the students like her are the reason I spend more time at school than is reasonable. She is the reason I agonize over lesson plans and spend hundreds of dollars a year on books for my classroom. She is the reason I can endure the senseless meetings and bureaucracy of the profession. She is the reason why I love my classroom so much.

Keep reminding me, sweet girl. Keep reminding me.