On the first day of fifth grade, I sat at my desk. That day, we read “TIME For Kids” articles, the blinds of the classroom drawn and the room dark in mystery of how the year ahead would go. Finally, it was my turn to read aloud, and when I mispronounced “Maryland” as “Mary-land,” Ms. Sandor muttered in disdain: “You’d think they’d know how to pronounce the states by now.” My face burned in embarrassment — I thanked the closed blinds for muting the color of my definitely red complexion — but I read on, ignoring the snide comment that had me on the brink of tears.
This first impression, on her end and mine, was proven to be a deceptive one. I quickly became her favorite student, and she would go down as my favorite teacher.
Primarily an English and history teacher, Ms. Sandor emphasized the importance of writing and allotted time during each day when we would write mock “TIME for Kids” articles. I became obsessed and soon became the editor-in-chief, where my peers would come to me if they ever needed help with a sentence or brainstorming a creative title. Ms. Sandor also had us write stories, allowing us to explore our creative writing side as well. It was in fifth grade that I fell in love with writing, and could be found editing articles or writing stories during recess. Maybe I was not the best at reading aloud, but I sure could write a mean story.
I was a huge theater kid in fifth grade, and Ms. Sandor was shocked to learn I had never seen a Broadway show. I always hung out with her in the classroom as I waited for students in the drama club to be called to the music room, while showing her how I had learned to fake faint without hurting myself (I had bruises all over my knees). Naturally, I wrote a play in her class, as well as a mystery novel and an autobiography. I even wrote my own version of “A Christmas Carol,” which Ms. Sandor informed me through email a year later that she was having her current students perform.
When I think of that fifth-grade classroom, I remember wracking my brain over sudoku puzzles when I had finished my work early, writing poems like Robert Frost and how she had a picture of “Starry Night” by Vincent van Gogh on the bulletin board the whole school year. I remember when she learned that if you swung around dried-out EXPO markers on a string, it would help the ink travel to the tip — but do not try that at home, as the ink will end up spraying all around the room and stain your favorite hot pink sweater. Ms. Sandor always wore black and white, typically with pearl jewelry, and I envied the piercings that ran up her ears. I can’t remember the smell of her classroom or the sound of her voice, but the impact she left on me after only nine months of being my teacher is undeniable.
Ms. Sandor fostered my love of writing and gave me the opportunity to exercise it at an early age. I had always been a big reader, but she taught me to love the process behind what creates a book and articles. It’s because of her I tried writing my first book when I was 16 years old, and why I’ve now put that one on the back burner for a different novel four years later.
At the end of my senior year of high school, I tried to contact her, emailing her personal and school emails, but they failed to send. I wanted to tell her that it was because of her class that I would be attending Fordham University, where I would be studying English and hopefully accepted into the creative writing concentration. I wanted to thank her for putting me on this path and instilling in me the belief that I could make it.
I never got to thank her, finding out almost a year later that she had recently passed.
I hadn’t seen Ms. Sandor since I graduated from elementary school — over seven years ago — but the grief still struck. Maybe that’s what urged me to join the Ram the next semester and what pushed me to join the staff a semester later. I’m back at my roots, the same person I was in fifth grade: writing stories and articles, copy editing articles and dreaming big, an admirer of “Starry Night,” having now seen the real painting in the Museum of Modern Art and writing for Fordham’s literary magazine, The Ampersand. At heart, I am still a huge theater kid and writing my first novel about Broadway, having now seen twelve different shows. Possibly, most importantly, I’m concentrating on creative writing in the hopes of publishing a book in the next five years. But for now, I’ve traded out my pretend “TIME for Kids” articles for university-published articles.
All thanks to Ms. Sandor.
