Mrs. Wood

You were our substitute as far back as I can recall. We called you peach fuzz wood because you had a lot of facial hair, basically torturing you everytime you came to sub. Now that I am a substitute, I wish I hadn't been such an obnoxious youth.

Christy

Your husband of twenty years left you for a woman he met in the check-out at Home Depot, yet you still faithfully serve in children's ministries and love your God. That is more than could be said about most.

Mark

You were Megan's dad. She didn't make the softball team in 7th grade, so you decided to be the coach come 8th grade, sticking Megan at first base. We weren't spectacular, and when we lost to Mt. Carmel, you ordered us to the far, secluded side of Jason Field where you screamed at us. We never did get any better.

Unknown Woman

You sat in the stool next to mine, your hair styled by a student who hadn't a clue what she was doing. You reminded me of my grandma. You seemed sad. Grandma was dying, she was sad too. This struck me as terribly, for lack of a better word, sad. I looked away, eyes clouding with tears, and thought for the first time about how i'd miss my grandma when she died. The stylist finished your cut, someone picked you up, and you left. Sometimes when I think about Grandma, your sullen face invades my mind. I hope where ever you are, you're happy.

Bob

You promised to build us a tree house one otherwise boring, hot, summer afternoon around my ninth birthday. You stuck one board up in the large sumac tree in A and V's backyard. I moved away at 13, the one lone board patiently waiting for some wooden companions. I have a feeling, he is still waiting.

Pomeroy

Oh Pomeroy Elementary School, home of the Panthers...how I love thee. From the very first day I interned with you, to the last day of student teaching when I cried as I drove away down Shawnee Drive, I have loved you. Your school is clean, and not smelly, dingy, or depressed looking, like so many schools I have substituted in. Your staff is so dang fun and welcoming. Just today, as I drove down Dobson Road, I pondered whether anyone would ever need my substituting expertise, and just like that, my phone rang. I am requested! I don't even care that it is Kindergarten. After two days, I am already feeling like a pro. Besides, now I can see my favorite kids in the world, my 5th graders, as well as their wonderful teachers, Darcy and Mary. Oh Pomeroy, I pray we will have many more days together before I depart to NY!

Sara

We went to Grace together up through 8th grade. My lasting memories of you include sitting in 7th grade History class, which was right before lunch, dreaming of delicious food, and that birthday party at your house, which marked the first time I wore a two piece swim suit in front of boys.

Looking through someone else's clubbing pictures on myspace, I saw you randomly in the background, looking quite inebriated with a cocktail in your hand. Small world eh?

Francia

You were in the third grade at Adams Elementary. You knew not one word of English, but luckily many of your classmates knew Spanish and were able to translate for you. You seemed so scared and alone in this new strange country. I wanted to be able to help you more, but knew about 10 Spanish words.

Friday I subsituted in a fifth grade class at Washington Elementary. Imagine my surprise when you came in laughing and speaking English fluently. I was and am so happy for you.

Ashlee

Your boyfriend had to work all night at the fire station, so I spent the night at your house so you wouldn't be scared. You locked us out of the house, and I spent the rest of the night lost in south Phoenix looking for the fire station so we could get your spare key. You insisted on bringing your puppy along, he fell ill and threw up all over you. You left town the rest of the summer and the next time I saw you was on the first day of fall semester. You pretty much pretended we were never friends. Strange indeed.

Karen

We worked together at Cracker Barrell. You were big Karen and I was little Karen. Your husband died in a car crash, and you were left to raise two kids on your own. You always ran around like crazy, picking up extra tables to try and make ends meet. I stopped working there. I heard you were fired, or had quit, or something, and never gave you another thought.
I saw an old co-worker, he told me you became a drug addict and a prostitute. You were murdered in October, your body discovered lying naked in an alleyway in North Mesa by a woman delivering the morning paper. Your killer is yet to be found. They say you fell on hard times. I say, God rest your soul.

Gary

Church was going downhill, fast...so you got out, fast. On your last Sunday, you and your wife were going to be in the commons, we members of the congregation were supposed to go bid you farewell. I wanted to go and tell you how much all those summers of Psalty the singing songbook and hotdogs in 110 degree heat really meant to me, but I didn't. You really sang just like the Psalty on the tapes. You'll be missed.