Ode to Ms. Flannigan
A few weeks ago, I saw a blip of an obituary in the Chronicle: Sandra Flannigan, age 75, of Geneva had passed away. When the obits are so short there's virtually no personal information, it's not easy to know if you knew this particular person, but I'm certain, given the spelling, that this was my high school English teacher.
She only taught me one year, and I wouldn't have thought she made that big of an impression on me, but all these years later she's probably the teacher I think of the most. It had to do with her being Ms., not Mrs. We once had a discussion, just the two of us, about life and love. She'd met the love of her life, but his job took him in one direction, and hers in another, and they were unable to be together. That made me tremendously sad for her, that she wasn't able to be with him, and I'm not sure if she chose to be alone or if that just ended up being her circumstance, but she went on with her life and threw herself into her teaching. And, at that time, she taught what I'd consider the most rigorous course at my high school, as it was the sole AP class offered at the time.
I wanted to mention her on St. Patrick's Day given her name, but she was also one of the people who thought I had red hair; she'd nicknamed me Ginger. Three years later, Kris from camp would call me her friend with red hair.
Ms. Flannigan pops into my head every so often because of those two reasons, the red hair and the lost love. Especially now, given that I'm roughly the age that she was when she taught me; I would never have thought I'd make it to my 40s without finding someone, or having found people but not ending up with them. Now, I feel more compassion and empathy about the situation. I'm sorry to hear that she's gone, and I wanted to share that she did make an impact on at least one of her student's lives--and here I am, ironically, debating if I want to use student's or students', heh--even if it was in an unexpected fashion. Thank you, Ms. Flannigan. I promise in the English classroom in the afterlife, I did a better job on my senior paper.
She only taught me one year, and I wouldn't have thought she made that big of an impression on me, but all these years later she's probably the teacher I think of the most. It had to do with her being Ms., not Mrs. We once had a discussion, just the two of us, about life and love. She'd met the love of her life, but his job took him in one direction, and hers in another, and they were unable to be together. That made me tremendously sad for her, that she wasn't able to be with him, and I'm not sure if she chose to be alone or if that just ended up being her circumstance, but she went on with her life and threw herself into her teaching. And, at that time, she taught what I'd consider the most rigorous course at my high school, as it was the sole AP class offered at the time.
I wanted to mention her on St. Patrick's Day given her name, but she was also one of the people who thought I had red hair; she'd nicknamed me Ginger. Three years later, Kris from camp would call me her friend with red hair.
Ms. Flannigan pops into my head every so often because of those two reasons, the red hair and the lost love. Especially now, given that I'm roughly the age that she was when she taught me; I would never have thought I'd make it to my 40s without finding someone, or having found people but not ending up with them. Now, I feel more compassion and empathy about the situation. I'm sorry to hear that she's gone, and I wanted to share that she did make an impact on at least one of her student's lives--and here I am, ironically, debating if I want to use student's or students', heh--even if it was in an unexpected fashion. Thank you, Ms. Flannigan. I promise in the English classroom in the afterlife, I did a better job on my senior paper.