I went to school in Vardaman from seventh through twelfth grade, and those years provided me with some of the greatest memories of my life. That school also gave me some lifelong friends who would stand beside me and fight for me even today, 44 years after graduation.
Yes, there’s no doubt about it! We were blessed to live and attend school in that amazing little community. But even as kids, we were expected to do our part to contribute to our town and our school.
Vardaman High School (VHS) was a small but mighty school, continually ranking at the top in academics statewide during the years I attended. And that high standard of academic excellence was a tradition that we were expected to uphold – and pass on to the students in grades below us.
Our teachers demanded each student’s individual best. They knew us very well, inside and out. No excuses were accepted!
The entire staff worked especially hard to teach us the biblical principle from Luke 12:48, which states, “To whom much is given, much will be required.”
Even now, I can recall the exact moment when that lesson dropped down into my heart, to become a lifelong objective.
First of all, it’s important to note that both of my parents (Fred and Brenda Wilson) worked at VHS. My dad was the principal. My mom worked in the front office. Back then, I felt like their presence in my daily school life was the worst imaginable scenario. I especially resented the fact that my sister and I were held to an even higher behavioral and academic standard than our peers.
It just did not seem fair!
Add to this perceived injustice the fact that most of the other faculty and staff members were close friends with my parents. So, when it came to misbehavior and discipline, nothing was secret or sacred in our smalltown circle. We had dozens of mothers and fathers raising us!
Plus, we had the same basic teachers throughout our entire high school career, and my math teacher and my English teacher (George and Becky Thomas) were also my parents’ best friends. My mom and Mrs. T., as the entire town affectionately called her, were together most of their waking hours.
Most nights, these two friends sat at our kitchen table, talking, sewing, crafting, or planning elaborate meals for us all.
And most nights, I tried my best to avoid them and avoid any chores they might invent for me to do. I was especially wary of them when or if I had been into a little mischief.
But one night, I had a bone to pick with Mrs. T., so I waited for a quiet lull in their nightly conversation and headed into the kitchen.
I just went for the jugular and demanded an answer to why she had given me a very unfair grade on a recent assignment.
“Why did I get a C on my book report when (I called a classmate by name) got an A?” I asked angrily. “My book was over 300-pages long, and hers was a rinky-dink one with barely 100-pages. A baby book. That’s not fair.”
Mrs. T. paused and stared at me for a moment. Then she sighed and asked, “Joy, did you do your very best on this report? Or did you just throw it together and get it over with as quickly as possible?”
I sighed too because she had nailed me flat-out.
She must have seen that realization in my eyes as well, because she went on to say, “Your friend wrote the best report I have ever read from her. I could tell she really liked that book, and she worked extra hard to do it justice.
“You do know that reading is really hard for her, right? And writing does not come easy for her either. She got an A because she gave me her absolute best. But you did not, did you?”
By this time, my shame was beginning to grow, and my red face showed it all too well. For the truth was, I did know how hard it was for my friend to do those things. She worried and fretted a lot over her English grades, while both of those tasks were really easy for me.
Yes, in an instant I understood that Mrs. T. knew all too well which classes did not come easy to me – science, home economics, typing, and especially sports. Yet in all of those areas, my friend helped me and encouraged me without fail. She was a true friend to me, a friend I probably did not appreciate or deserve.
My teacher knew it; my mom knew it; and now, so did I. Nothing else was said for nothing else needed to be said.
I took my shame and regrets back to my room and cried a little. Then, I got out my latest library book and settled in to read just as I always did (and still do) each night.
But I can guarantee you that my report on that book and every book thereafter was done with this conversation of excellence and friendship in mind.
I often wonder if I would have become an English teacher myself, if not for Mrs. T. Or if God would have ever blessed me with the opportunity to write and have my words published for others to read.
I doubt it! Because as Mrs. Becky Thomas so aptly taught me, “To whom much is given, much will be required.”
