Happy Mother's Day, Hedy Bowen

My sixth grade teacher was a beautiful and sophisticated woman on whom I had a huge crush. Her name was Hedy Bowen. At my tender age, she seemed to be the epitome of glamour. She had long blonde hair, which was always done up, she wore lovely dresses--it seemed as though she never wore the same one twice--and she smelled of heaven. She was always nice to me, but I wasn't her pet by any means. I was one of her smarter students, at least when it came to Language Arts and Social Studies. Not so much with Math. I spent a good year with her, and at the end of it, I went off into the timeless summer never to see her again, or so I thought.

After three years of Junior High tedium, I arrived at Central High School. For some reason I had decided to take Drama as one of my electives. I have no idea why, really. I guess it had something to do with not wanting to follow my elder siblings in Band or Orchestra, not to mention that my 7th-grade music teacher was an evil, child-hating ex-Marine who turned me off of choral singing for forty years. My teacher was a man named Bill Bowen, who, as it turned out, had a greater positive impact on my life than any other teacher. Almost everything positive that has happened in my life I owe, on somew level, to him. Bill, as you have guessed, was Mrs. Bowen's husband. (Her name was Hedy, but, to this day I cannot think of her in any terms other than, respectfully, Mrs. Bowen. I can barely think of Mr. Bowen as "Bill." Mrs. Bowen had moved from Travis Elementary, where I attendedcd 6th grade, to Central High and now taught Senior Honors English.

It turned out that Mr. Bowen already knew about me, that Mrs. Bowen had talked about me and told him that I would do well in his high school Drama and Speech program. Imagine that. So I spent the next three years as one of the group I have come to refer to as the Friends of Bill Bowen (FOBBs). We were students first, of course, but we shared a cameraderie that set us apart. We were invited to his house for Christmas parties, he took interest in our personal lives, and to a large extent guided my intellectual and social development. I came to love him as a father. And Mrs. Bowen--I was not fortunate enough to have her as my Senior English teacher; my grades just weren't good enough--but she took a deep interest in me as well.

I guess they saw something in me that I've never seen in myself. After I graduated from high school they seemed to take a special interest in me. I spent countless hours at their beautiful home. I have no idea how many dinners we shared. They both treated me as an adult; they sought and respected my opinions. We laughed at each others' jokes, Through it all, Mrs. Bowen kept me in thrall to her cool sophistication and casual elegance, even when her hair was down and she was barefoot in jeans and shirt. I became her son in many ways, I think. At least I thought of her as my "real" mother. (By the way, I know I was not unique in my position. There were a number of us who became this childless couple's extended family. I don't think I would ever have been as close to my dear friend April if we hadn't shared, independently, this special relationship.)

It was because I felt this familial loyalty to the Bowens that one Mother's Day I sent her a letter telloing her how I felt. I told her that even if she had never borne children, there were many of us who benefitted from being her "children," none more than I. I told her that I honored her on that Mother's Day and every Mother's Day. She would always have a place in my heart.

I guess the words touched her. She was a reserved woman, so I was flabbergasted when the next time she saw me, she put her arms around me, hugged me tightly, and planted a big kiss on my cheek. I treasured that moment then, and I treasure it now. The next time I hugged her, her husband lay dying in a San Angelo hospital.  That came at a low moment of my life--a period of darkness that I prefer not to think about--but I visited several times during that dark period. When I came down for Bill's funeral, I hugged her for the last time. It was only then I realized that she really was a small woman. She seemed really frail. She had always been the large sixth grade teacher I had met back when I was twelve years old.

Time moved on, and I moved to Tallahassee. When Mrs. Bowen died, April tracked me down, just as she had when Mr. Bowen was sick. April was far more attentive to the Bowens than I ever was. I don't know why I didn't attend Mrs. Bowen's funeral, but I regret that I didn't properly say good-bye to her. But on this Mother's Day, I remember her and honor her, just as I have on every Mother's day for thirty or thirty-five years. Here's to you, Mrs. Bowen. More of us owe you more than you could ever know.

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Addendum: This is the last communication I received from Mrs. Bowen, shortly after my birthday in 1997. I reach for it from time to time when I am feeling low for its reassuring power. I set it out verbatim:

"Dear Douglas [she never called me Doug],  

"I hope that your birthday card arrived on time. Exigencies of the moment prevented my adding a post script.

"As I have been reflecting on the adjustments that I have made and need to make regarding retirement and being alone, I have thought of qualities that enable people to move forward in spite of adversity. I have thought of the need for enlightenment, determination, patience, and compassion.

"You possessed those qualities even when you were a sixth grade student. You have an inner strength which helps you to look beyond yourself and think of others. I am grateful for the many times that you thought of me during my moments of despair. I wish the best for you!

"H. Bowen" 

That was Mrs. Bowen, loving to the end. Aside: I have always had at least one person--never more than two--saying things like that to me. That has helped me hang on to what sanity I have. That is what gives me hope if not optimism for the future. Thank you Mrs. Bowen. And thank you to all the others--you  know who you are. I love you.