When I think about my childhood, Mrs. Shannon comes to mind. The days at Merton, relaxing during nap time, going hard during recess, and having pure fun, all come back to Mrs. Shannon. I still remember kindergarten being an unforgettable year.

I always thought I resembled Mrs. Shannon. Besides the fact we share the same name, she had short blonde hair, glasses, and I always looked up to her.

The way she taught and interacted with her students proved she was a mother. She had the ability to tell if we were having a bad day. If I missed my mom or broke my glasses she’d always have open arms—for long, warm hugs. In her class, I was able to let out my emotions. Hugging her, I was able to show my emotions. And she wouldn’t let me go until all my tears were gone. Letting me go, she’d gently whisper, “No more tears,” squeezing my cheeks.

At the end of the day, she’d walk her students to the back where we’d get picked up. If I wasn't taking the bus, Oma and Opa would pick me up. She’d always chat with my grandparents and tell them how precious and innocent I was—even if I was naughty. She had my back.

On days when I was naughty, she’d put me in my place. One day, my friend Kendra and I were in the computer lab throwing plastic squashes at each other. Hysterically laughing caused attention toward us. Mrs. Shannon came into the lab—concerned. She asked, “What are you two up to?”

Being young, getting into trouble was our nightmare. Kendra and I looked at each other waiting to respond. Speechless.

Mrs. Shannon knew what to do. We both had to sit on a red square tile on the floor (timeout). She let us sit next to one another. For the whole five minutes we were on the red squares, Mrs. Shannon looked over smiling.

Little did I know my partner in crime, Kendra would become my best friend. During nap time we’d sleep next to each other and doodle in our little flip notebooks. After a good nap, we’d skip down the halls to gym or art (our favorite classes). At recess, we’d push each other on the swings, and chase each other until our asthma acted up. During group activities we’d always be together, brainstorming endless ideas. It’s almost like Mrs. Shannon knew it was a perfect match. Never did we leave each other’s side, our five minutes on the red squares turned into an inseparable friendship.  

During this year, I had a hernia. When I’d cough, it was almost like a big balloon would puff out of my belly button. It was extremely hard for my mom. My mom came into class and announced what was happening to me. I had a big decision to make–innie or outie. Mrs. Shannon thought to do a class vote because I just couldn’t make up my mind! Mrs. Shannon had everyone put there tally under the category they preferred–innie or outie. As you could guess, it was a tie. Walking out of the emergency room I had both an innie and an outie (a midi).

I remember my mom going overboard on presents for Teacher’s Day, winter and spring break, and sadly the end of the school year. I’d walk in with a bag the size of me, cruising to Mrs. Shannon’s desk. She’d open it in front of me and read every letter on the card (even if my handwriting was hard to read). My mom knew how much I loved her as a teacher and wanted to let her know that. My mom and Mrs. Shannon were also very close—inside would be drawings, magnets, and some of her favorite goodies drowned in little decoration strings and tissue paper.

I am nominating Mrs. Shannon for the Educator of the Year award because she was more than a great educator. She taught me to be strong and take responsibility for my own actions. She helped me meet my best friend that has never–ever left my side. She had my back on the good and bad days. Caring for my feelings, and always thinking about how she could make anyone's day better. Ever since my childhood, I looked up to her, and to this day I still do. And no matter how young I may have been, I will never forget my kindergarten year with Mrs. Shannon.