<p>"His mother was teaching a new program that would change her students’ lives forever. A lifetime later, they helped teach him how she did it.</p>
<p>The last time the musical “Spamalot” came to town, my phone rang. Sir Bedevere was on the line.</p>
<p>“Is this the Steve Hendrix who grew up in Americus, Georgia?” began one of those delightful reconnections common in the age of Google. The voice from the past was Christopher Gurr, an acquaintance from decades ago who was now touring the country with the Broadway show.</p>
<p>We met at Old Ebbitt Grill, and Christopher filled me in on his career: many seasons of summer stock and regional theater, brushes with Broadway and four years of standing ovations as a principal in Monty Python’s medieval satire. A contented man, excelling in his art. I toasted him with my Guinness.</p>
<p>He thanked me and paused over his own glass. “You know who I should really thank for becoming an actor?” he said. “Your mother.”</p>
<p>My mother?</p>
<p>She had been Christopher’s fourth-grade teacher in 1976. While it was a surprise to have it pop up at lunch, 1976 was a year I’ve actually thought about a lot. It was only her second year of teaching, which was a career thrust upon her when divorce left her a 42-year-old single mom with two young boys and a r</p>
<p>thank you Northstarmom, that is a beautifully touching story, made me cry. </p>
<p>“It was just a casual compliment,” he said. “But I can still picture her saying it. Ever since that moment, I have thought of myself as a patient person.”</p>
<p>the power of a teacher, a mother, the power of love…</p>
<p>That made me cry, but it was a truly wonderful story to read, especially on Mother’s Day, and especially because my own mother died when I wasn’t all that much older than Steve Hendrix was. And because she was an elementary school teacher later in life, too, and I’ve sometimes wondered if any of her old students remember her, all these years later. (The car accident that resulted in her death was 35 years ago tomorrow.)</p>
<p>Thank you so much for posting this story. It is beautiful.</p>
<p>We should never forget the power we each have to positively impact lives. It can happen with smallest of comments (“you are so patient”). We must also remember that it works the other way around; we can hurt with the smallest of comments, as well.</p>
<p>To our moms who have changed the world … thank you. To those of us who are moms who are changing the world … let’s keep up the good work, for we are all changing the world in our own ways.</p>