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.

1972 - Sorry Mr. Westerhaus!

It never fails. Every time I am poking around in my old (and unorganized) photos, I come across "the picture." I'm starting to wonder, is it trying to tell me something? Possibly. I'll admit, every time I see "the picture" I silently hope that someday, I might run into the teacher I had that year, Mr. Westerhaus. 

Yeah, that's me - lower left corner.

If that day should ever come, I would first thank him for being an excellent (and patient) teacher, which he was. I would make some small talk and tell him that I grew up to be a happy and mostly normal person. I would thank him again. Then...I would apologize for all the headaches I'm sure I must've caused him that year.

  
I will relay one such incident, which in the context of today's classroom, is actually pretty mild.  

The Bees Knees.

A Hip mom or what?

Things were changing in 1972. It had only been the year before, thanks to the pushing of the "hipper" parents, (my mom being one of them - yea mom.) that girls were finally allowed to wear pants to school. This small town Catholic school, was no match for the newest, hippest trend of the 70's:  The Pant Suit. The men's version was known as a leisure suit.

Leisure Suit - I so remember Dad wearing these.

The early 70's also marked the beginning of the end for nuns being the primary teachers in the Lab school. One-by-one they were eventually all replaced by lay people. Mr. Westerhaus was one of the first. 

I was ten years old when my 6th grade school year began. Our second story classroom sat on the south-east corner of the school. The only windows in our classroom faced east, towards the church. (Before being retro-fitted to save energy, the windows were the size of the white square.) One cold, especially blue and clear winter morning, before classes started, Mr. Westerhaus instructed us to stand near the windows.  We were told to be silent and  reflective and watch the sun rise over the church. He indicated he was going to start some music, (to further enhance the experience, I'm assuming.)

The Lab School - uppermost left window-my classroom.

Already a smidge irreverent at 11 years old, "reflective, silent and watch the sun come up" seemed tiringly adult-ish, cheesy and boring. The music, Cat Stevens, "Morning has Broken" started, (the first three words of the song being the same.)  I don't know why, but something about that song...I could not keep a straight face. Distracting everyone I rolled my eyes, mock prayed, fake sang along, contorted my face, and laughed. Basically I made fun of (disrespected) him and what he was hoping (I'm guessing) to accomplish: experience the serenity of Gods presence in the wonder and beauty of the rising sun. 

I get it now, but obviously didn't then. What a brat. His "moment" was ruined. I was sent to the principals office (where I had a reserved chair...sigh) and duly reprimanded, which I deserved. (By the way, "Morning has Broken" was a chart topper that year and is actually a really good tune.)  

   

I don't know why I remember that story. I don't even know if it's a good story. But every time I come across that picture, that's what I think of. I also know that if I ever happen to see my teacher, Mr. Westerhaus, (now, 44 years later), I would tell him (awkwardly) I am sorry for ruining his "moment". It's never too late. Hopefully, we would both have a laugh over it. Last I heard, he was alive and still in the area...you just never know.

The St. Joseph Lab School Class of 1973:

What a fine group of 1973 kids...even the mischievous red-head.