Most teachers will admit that there are certain students they just can’t seem to forget. Some kids have intriguing personalities, amazing potential or untold stories in haunted eyes that tug at their hearts. Many of those students make a lasting impression.

Eight years ago I moved to southern California from Johannesburg, South Africa. Leaving my homeland was a giant leap of faith and there were times when I had my doubts and fears about my decision. But when the planets aligned and everything fell into place, I gathered my courage along with my bags and departed to start my new life.  

As soon as I was able to work, I began teaching eight-week communication courses in schools. Computer games and cell phones do little to teach “people skills” and I’d designed a program to help children learn the skills they need to connect with each other in meaningful ways.

I teach them that they matter, what they think matters, that they have a voice and the world needs to hear that voice. Time and again, in only a few short weeks I’ve seen bullies soften and develop compassion and empathy. And I’ve seen the shy and intimidated kids develop confidence that left them better equipped to handle whatever comes their way.

As I begin each new session class I look for the quiet kids, the reluctant ones, the kids nobody notices and those who have shut down. 

Those were the ones I wanted to reach most of all.                                          

Last year I worked with a freshman class of about 30 students in a diverse school with teens from many different backgrounds. The average age for that particular class was about 14.

In a group of chattering, boisterous teenagers, one girl stood out. She had beautiful green eyes with dark fringed lashes.

And she was painfully shy.

On the second day I was there, I made eye contact.

“You have such beautiful green eyes Sarah!” (I had learned the names from the roster)

She smiled.

Over the eight weeks, I made a special effort to connect with Sarah. I made eye contact with her, smiled and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder when I walked by. All of this to let her know that I did notice her and that she was important to me. Although it was clear that Sarah was paying close attention to what was said, she never uttered a peep.

Toward the end of each class, most if not all students volunteer to speak at the end of the program. I am always blown away by the dramatic progress in their poise and communication skills.

Yet I couldn't help but feel disappointed that "pretty green eyes" had remained quiet. I was overjoyed by the progress made by the rest of the class. But I couldn’t get Sarah out of my mind, a girl that for some reason I had not been able to reach.

As I prepared to say goodbye after our last lesson together, the teacher presented me with letters. They were written by students, thanking me for coming and telling me how much they enjoyed the program. Sarah’s letter was among them.

Dear Chanti:

Thank you so much for coming to our class. I loved it. You made my day.  

Even though I never went in front of the class to speak, I practiced at home in front of my brother. He is 11 years old. Every time you spoke to our class I went home and told him all about it. He always found it very amusing.  

You probably don't remember me because I wasn't one of the bold courageous kids, but I know I'll always remember you. I’m gonna ask you something very important. Please, I want you to put this letter on the wall of your office so I'll know you'll never forget me. I want you to write me a letter back saying that you did put it on your wall. Thank you so much Chanti. 

From the girl in the front row with the “pretty green eyes”

Sarah

Her postscript was a quote that I’d read in class from Alice in Wonderland, words spoken by the infamous Mad Hatter.

“Everyone wants a magical solution to their problem, and everyone refuses to believe in magic.” 

When I finished reading, tears of gratitude began streaming down my cheeks. I placed the letter on my bulletin board just as she had asked me to. She also asked me to write her back and tell her I’d done it.

However, instead of putting pen to paper, I took a photograph of her letter with my phone.  I had a better plan.

A few days later I went to the school and I asked Sarah’s teacher to pull her out of class. There was something I wanted to show her.

“I’ll be glad to do, but she will think she’s in trouble” she noted.

We laughed.

I watched the teacher go into the classroom, and seconds later emerge with the Sarah, and yes, she was looking rather worried, until she saw me. She hesitated for a second and then ran straight into my arms.

"Do you know why I'm here?" I asked her.

She looked up at me, pretty green eyes shining.

"No!"

"I have something to show you."

I pointed to the photo on my phone that I'd taken of her letter above my desk.

When she looked back at me, her face was filled with joy and her smile matched my own.

“You did it? You really did it? You put MY letter on your wall?”

“Yes, and I look at it every day. And I came here to show you that because I wanted you to know how much it means to me.”  

Tears welled up in her eyes. Her teacher and I teared up too.

I knew that day I made a difference to that one child.

Sarah stepped out of her shy, lonely comfort zone by writing the words she couldn’t say out loud. And when we had a chance to meet again, I believe she realized that reaching out to others and articulating her feelings could be a wonderful, life changing thing.

I still have her letter on my bulletin board and I look at it every day. It comforts me when I’m homesick for my loved ones in South Africa. It affirms that the giant leap of faith that brought me to America was the right choice. 

It reminds me why I do what I do, and the importance of empowering children with the confidence to take their place in our great big world.

Like the author of the letter; the girl with the pretty green eyes.