The year was 1970 and a quirky kid with long dark hair and kind of nerdy glasses walked triumphantly out of a classroom after having spent a year immersed in the most creative and open learning environment she could have imagined. Two teachers, 64 students, 4th, 5th and 6th graders filled the large room in which we were encouraged to be our best and stretch our definition of what it meant to be a human being. The older kids were mentors of sorts to the younger kids. As a sixth grader, I fit into the latter category. It was an experimental ‘non-graded’ system in which we were evaluated not by numbers or letters, but by what we accomplished and learned. The teachers of our particular class in Pennypacker Park Elementary School in Willingboro, NJ (one of the original Levittown communities that also include New York and Pennsylvania) were Richard Serfling and Christie Richards. Both young (in their 20s at the time), they were enthusiastic and encouraging. While I don’t remember specifics in terms of academics, what remains with me was how it wasn’t a one size fits all, cookie cutter experience. It was as if the two of them incorporated lessons with each child’s unique skills in mind while keeping with the proscribed requirements. All of the traditional academics of English, Math, Science, History, Social Studies, Art, Music and Phys Ed were incorporated, but often in non-traditional guises. They made learning fun!
Everyone has a favorite teacher and mine was Rich Serfling. In addition to classroom time, he supervised the Safety Patrol which was the kid version of crossing guards who guided other students across intersections. It was an honor to be chosen and I wore my white sash and badge proudly. He encouraged excellence in all aspects of our lives.
The same year I moved from elementary to junior high school, the Beatles recorded The Long and Winding Road, which heralded their breakup. It was the end of an era and I felt a sense of wistfulness that only someone in the midst of pre-adolescent angst can experience. Moving from kid-land to teen-land was both exciting and terrifying. Even now, when I have performance anxiety dreams, sometimes they are situated in those hallways at Abraham Levitt Junior High where I forget where my locker is, then when I locate it, forget the combination, so I tote around all my books and walk into classrooms where there is a pop quiz in every one. Somehow I survived that time, moved on to high school and then college and then grad school and then seminary.
Fast forward to 2009 and Rich’s name comes up in conversation, so I decided to do a Google search and it turns out that he too moved up the ranks from classroom teacher to principal to superintendent. At the time, he had just retired from the last job. I called and his wife, Marie answered the phone. I remember her saying, “Rich, one of your former students is on the phone.” We chatted for a bit and caught each other up on our lives. I told him what a pivotal person he had been and he inspired me to become a writer. He took it all in and when I asked him if he was surprised, since I know he had provided that kind of support for other students over the decades, he responded that he would hear from some of them from time to time, but usually after high school or college graduation, not more than 30 some years later. We laughed at that and agreed to get together face to face.
Another 10 years passed without that in-person meeting and once again, I felt moved to reach out. This time, I saw that he was on Facebook and contacted him via that venue. I told him that I would be in his area to celebrate the birthday of a dear friend and asked to stop by. He and Marie welcomed me to do that. I can honestly say that in anticipation, I felt a bit of the jitters. Not quite as intense as before I met and interviewed the Dalai Lama, but close. When I walked up to the door of their suburban home, I carried with me a copy of a book I had written called The Bliss Mistress Guide To Transforming The Ordinary Into The Extraordinary that I wanted to give to them. I had included him in the acknowledgments as a pivotal person. When he opened the door, he hugged me even before I could step across the threshold. Marie waited until I had actually walked in. For the next two hours, we reminisced, as I learned a bit about what shaped our shared experiences back then. I laughingly told him that they had “cultivated little subversives,” since, during our Friday afternoon ‘hootenannies,’ (for those who don’t know…folk music gatherings) Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, and Peter, Paul and Mary were our influences as we sang, “This Land Is Your Land’, “Blowin’ In the Wind,” and “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?”
Even in his retirement, he still mentors other administrators. I think of him as the consummate teachers’ teacher. Marie volunteers in their church. Their faith involves more than sitting in the pews. They take it out into their daily lives as they do good in their community.
Their home (decorated for Valentines’ Day) is filled with family photos, mementos from many eras of their lives and affirmational wall hangings. Tea, fruit, and mini-muffins were shared as our conversation meandered and wove seamlessly.
I found myself holding back tears as I looked at this man who helped to turn a less-than-confident-kid into a (mostly) head held high, self-assured, bold woman with the simple act of believing in her.
The long and winding road most definitely led me to their door. For that, I am grateful.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: Marie Serfling