Second Chance Brings Peace

As I listened to the message on our answering machine, I felt a cocktail of exploding emotions: disbelief, joy, excitement, anxiety, panic. A voice in my head silently mocked me: "Be careful what you wish for Diane."

Not to mislead, the words coming from the answering machine delivered an all out, 100%, wonderful message. I had thought about this moment for years - hoped for it. Did the message surprise me? Absolutely. Did the message make me happy? Very much. Did I feel anxious? To. The. Core. 

The message was from my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Westerhaus.

Mr. Westerhaus 1972-73 St. Joseph Lab School

The precipitating event was a story published two days earlier in the local newspaper, The St. Joseph Newsleader. The story was my recollection of an incident that occurred during the 1972-73 school year. While minor and well beyond the sight of my life experiences rear-view mirror, it left me with feelings of regret ever since. Unbeknownst to me, the story had been forwarded to Mr. Westerhaus.

Click here to read the full blog story “1972 - Sorry Mr. Westerhaus”. The following is an excerpt from the published St. Joseph Newsleader story:

“I started sixth grade as a 10-year old. Our second-story classroom was located on the southeast corner of the school. The only windows in our classroom faced east, toward the church. One cold and particularly blue and clear winter morning, Mr. Westerhaus instructed us to stand near the windows. He was ready to start some music, and he requested we be silent and reflective while watching the sun rise over the church.

The class became silent, and the music, Cat Stevens’ Morning has Broken, began. It was sure to be a special moment for both class and teacher. We would experience the wonder and beauty of the rising sun. Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last long. I started giggling and soon the entire class became distracted, some joining me in my antics. I was duly reprimanded and sent to the principal’s office.”

Pretty minor. So why the anxiety? My 54-year old logical, adult brain told me to calm down, be cool and pick up the phone. My 11-year old immature, child brain told me to run and hide in a closet and never come out. It was a head-on collision between 54-year old me and 11-year old me. 

11-year old Diane.

I sat down, stared out the window and asked myself: Where was my anxiety coming from? Acknowledging wrongs and offering apologies is not always easy. Was that it? Or, was it an unknown, unexamined insecurity I harbored? Wondering (and worrying) if Mr. Westerhaus' impression of the 54-year old me would be favorable? This later hypothesis struck a nerve. Don't we all (on varying levels) want approval and affirmation from the adults and mentors who shaped our lives as children? Parents, teachers, coaches, etc. I was okay with both explanations.

Sufficient courage gathered, 44 years later, I FINALLY spoke (and apologized) to my sixth grade teacher, Mr Westerhaus. (Not sure when his name "Tom" will feel comfortable.) It wasn't awkward like I had imagined. He was cheerful and kind - just how I remembered him. He did indeed remember the "incident." Much to my relief he assured me no apology was necessary. 

The 44 year gap soon disappeared. We talked and laughed as we reminisced about that school year, remembering former classmates and colleagues. 

I learned that our sixth grade class was the beginning of his 41 year career in education. He eventually became a superintendent ending his career in River Falls, Wisconsin. He is now retired. He is married with four adult children and lives in Hudson, Wisconsin. He is the grandfather of seven beautiful children. (Who he clearly adores as evidenced by his involvement in their lives.) Viewing the picture he sent, I smiled to myself, happy to see a red-head in the bunch.

Mr. Westerhaus - Pictured with wife Betsy and 5 of his 7 grandchildren.

After a delightful, 36 minute conversation, we said our good-byes. We promised to meet sometime this summer during one of his regular visits to the area. 

Often in life we don't get second chances. I have never been more grateful for this one.

Note: Thank you to Dennis Dahlman, editor of the St. Joseph Newsleader. Without publishing my Guest Writer story, none of this would have been possible.