Mapp Of The World

 A light went out at our school last weekend. Unfortunately, this isn't the kind of light for which we can call Buildings and Grounds and have them come out in their sweet time to replace. There is no replacing this light. Our good friend and colleague Brenda Mapp passed on. 

Brenda was a teacher at Horace Mann for more years than I can remember. She was there with me long enough ago that we used to have a bit which went something like this: 

"How're you doing today Mapp?"

"Keep hope alive!" she would say if it had been a tough one.

"Oh," I would reply, "Please don't. Bob Hope is nearly a hundred years old and he's not getting any funnier."

And we would both laugh and go our separate ways. Until the day some eighteen years ago when Bob finally went to that big USO show in the sky. 

Now Brenda's gone to join him. Which is nothing short of a tragedy in my book because she was a great teacher and a good friend. She held down second grade for many years, and when it came time to fill in a vacancy in fifth grade, she made the move with grace and style. Her style. She didn't mind if she ruffled a feather or two, and sometimes kids in her class wondered if she was serious. Most of the time, she was, but no child had a fiercer advocate and support than Ms. Mapp. Long before it became the rhetoric of the day, she left no child behind. Hers was the room that kids would flock to, wanting to help sort papers or staple things or just to hang around long enough to get a little bit more. Her students left with knowledge not just of the second or fifth grade, but also the knowledge that they were loved and respected. 

It was only a few years ago that Brenda left to go live in Florida with her son and grandchildren. We were all certain that those kids were lucky to have such a devoted grandma and it was easy to imagine her watching them grow up and out of the house. Into the world. 

I know that she won't stop looking after those kids, and all the kids she ever taught. She'll just be doing so from a higher point of view. 

Aloha, Brenda. You stomped on the Terra, and you will be missed.