Tag Archives: regret

Another Regret

A number of years ago I wrote a blog post about regretting not going to a wedding as a 6th grader. Over the Christmas holiday, while being shown around Atlanta, I realized I had another regret.

When we lived in Pittsburgh in the early 1980s I’d discovered the works of Anne Rivers Siddons. I’m sure I read her first three novels (Heartbreak Hotel, The House Next Door, and Fox’s Earth) while living in Pittsburgh. When I read that she was going to be visiting a local bookstore, I was excited and planned to go to the event which was taking place sometime in the middle of the day.

I am unclear on the actual date. If Siddons was promoting a book, then it had to have been Fox’s Earth because the next published book was after we’d left Pittsburgh. That would make it 1981. I am also unclear on the bookstore. My memory puts it in the ritzy part of Shadyside — an area I was not very familiar with. I don’t remember if I walked there or drove. Whatever, I am 95% sure the author was Anne Rivers Siddons.

What I am clear on is walking into the bookstore shortly before the event was supposed to begin. I looked around the store and saw no area set up for a book reading (although I’d never been to a book reading so I am not sure I knew what I was looking for). At the time I was incredibly shy and found new experiences to be painful. I am sure I was nervous just going into the bookstore, but I suppose I assumed there would be welcoming staff or at least a sign telling Anne Rivers Siddons fans where to go for the reading. Being shy, I was terrified of asking one of the book sellers about the reading, so, after a few moments of walking around the bookstore I turned around and began walking out of the shop.

As I headed towards the exit I saw a harried looking woman enter the shop. She said something to me as I passed her about it being hard to find the bookstore or something. I smiled and nodded and left. Moments later I realized it was Anne Rivers Siddons but I was too shy to go back into the store.

I’d mostly forgotten about that event/non-event until we were leaving for our recent semi-spontaneous trip to Atlanta. I ran downstairs to my bookshelf of books I’ve been meaning to read and grabbed my thirty-something year-old mass market paperback copy of Anne Rivers Siddons’ Peachtree Road.

Peachtree Road was the last Anne River Siddons book I read — and I never finished it. I picked up a copy of The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver and fell in love with a new author. I remember telling people about it, saying that it had some of the same themes as Peachtree Road, but Kingsolver didn’t waste a word in her writing. Since I don’t remember much about the 170 or so pages I read in Peachtree Road, I don’t know if the themes were similar. I do think that Kingsolver’s writing is more concise.

The reason I grabbed my copy of Peachtree Road is because I always thought that the day I finally visited Atlanta, I would visit Peachtree Road and then read the book to the end.

My regret is that I didn’t stay to see Anne Rivers Siddons at the bookstore in Shadyside. If I had, perhaps I would have continued reading her works (and still discovered Kingsolver’s books). I regret that perhaps her only fan that could make it to the reading in the middle of the day in a work week was too shy to ask about the reading. That could not have been very pleasant for her (if no one showed up).

So to honor the author who I didn’t stick around to hear her reading, I posed near Peachtree Road in Atlanta with my copy of Peachtree Road. And now all I have to do is read the dam thing.

For Carolyn — a confession that comes too late

In 1990 I began working for Fairfax County Public Schools at Rose Hill Elementary School as a special education teacher. I taught students in grades 4 – 6 and worked with many of the “regular” education teachers. One of the 4th grade teachers, Cindy, was also new that year and we, along with Rosanne, another special ed teacher became instant friends.

Cindy often complained to Rosanne and me about the other 4th grade teachers. I don’t recall the content of the complaints, but it seemed to involve her not being welcomed into the 4th grade community. I, being stupidly and blindly loyal to my friends, immediately took her side without seeing any discrimination for myself.

At grade level staff meetings (I had to attend all grade level meetings that involved the grades I taught) I was downright rude to the other 4th grade teachers. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember being cold and abrupt. How dare these women upset my new-found friend? I thought. I’ll show them!

So all year I carried on a private battle with Joyce and Carolyn. Carolyn once confronted me at the copier about my attitude but I denied anything was wrong.

That summer I gave birth to Clare and was on maternity leave until November. I remember walking into Cindy’s room after school on one of my first days back and being shocked to see her and Carolyn laughing together as if they were the best of friends. Something had changed, Cindy no longer disliked Carolyn. In fact, Cindy liked Carolyn. The war was over and no one told me.  Later I asked Cindy when the ceasefire happened and she denied ever being at war with Carolyn.

As the year went on, I got to like Carolyn too, but I always felt uncomfortable with her because of my actions the year before. When another friend, Joan, began teaching 4th grade, she and Carolyn became very close. I too, got to know Carolyn for the warm and kind person she was and the uncomfortableness I’d felt was pretty much gone, but not entirely forgotten by me (and I suspect by Carolyn).

When I started teaching again in the fall of 1995 I worked as a co-teacher with Joan. Two years later I chose to work as a co-teacher alongside Carolyn because she was retiring at the end of the year. I didn’t realize that Carolyn didn’t want the principal to know that she was going to retire, so when asked by the principal why I wanted to work with Carolyn, said because it would be my last chance because she was going to retire.

Not long after my meeting with the principal, Carolyn met with her and came back to the classroom upset. She said that someone told the principal about her retirement plans and that she suspected Laurie, one of the other special ed teachers. I said nothing. Months later when she met with the principal again, she asked her who told her about her retirement. The principal said it was me. Caught red-handed, I admitted that it was, indeed, I who spilled the beans. Carolyn wasn’t upset that I’d told the principal, but because I’d let her think it was Laurie all those months. I apologized and she accepted it and that was that, although I still feel horrible about it.

The next year Carolyn retired and I took leave of absence to pursue a Master’s degree and never went back to teaching. I saw Carolyn several times after we both left Rose Hill, but not a whole lot — mostly with Joan.

In 2002 Carolyn was diagnosed with breast cancer shortly before her 60th birthday. I don’t know much about the stages of the disease, but she was in a stage where she’d have to be on chemotherapy for the rest of her life. We talked occasionally. I heard through the grapevine that she wondered why I didn’t visit more often — was I afraid of the cancer? It wasn’t that. It was another reason — but just as selfish. It was because once when I visited a friend who’d broken her leg after not having seen her in a long time was accused by the friend of simply paying her a pity call. I didn’t want to be accused of paying pity calls.

Carolyn hosted a Christmastime dinner party a couple of years ago and after that I sort of lost contact with Joan — we used to instant message a bit, but I’d all but stopped instant messaging on AIM. In the late winter of 2007  Joan had a Jewelry party that Clare and I attended and Carolyn was there.  That was the last time I saw her.

Recently (last week, in fact) I decided I should do something about my friendship with Joan — call her or write her. I also decided to write Carolyn a note and maybe go see her. I’d even decided to really apologize for my behavior the first year at Rose Hill and for the incident our last year as well.

I found out a couple of days ago that Carolyn died just over a month ago. At first I was angry that I wasn’t told about it so I could go to the funeral, but then the feeling turned to one of numbness. Numb because once again I could have done something and didn’t. That inertia or whatever the hell is wrong with me when it comes to communicating with those that might just appreciate it set in again and I missed a chance to say goodbye.


My daughter asked me, a few weeks ago, if I had any regrets and if so what they were. I could not think of any, offhand, and told her so, but today I thought of one regret.

In 6th grade we had a student teacher – Mary Woiwode. I don’t remember too much about her. In my memories she was short with short dark hair. I remember only one lesson she taught – an art lesson. She looked at the drawing or painting I was creating and noted the diagonal line I drew on the page. She said she thought it represented the two sides to the issue (I think we were supposed to be creating our impressions of communism – or else I am mixing this up with another memory) – the light and the dark sides. The only other thing I remember about that painting was that I drew or painted some birds in the sky and a classmate wondered why there were pterodactyls or bomber jets in my artwork. Miss Woiwode’s validation of my primitive art was an important point in my life and I’ll not forget it.

The most memorable event during Miss Woiwode’s tenure in our classroom was the visit of her brother — Larry Woiwode — a published author. His book, What I’m Going to Do I Think, was a literary success and his second book, Beyond the Bedroom Wall had been considered for a movie. Mr Woiwode was young and, in my 6th grade girl’s eyes, handsome. He must have been in his mid to late twenties. I don’t remember much of his speech, except that he prefaced his answer to my question about the courses someone should take in college if one wanted to be an author, with “What a great question!”. That and he borrowed my turquoise pen to sign autographs and I insisted he keep it. I think. Or else someone else did that and were so open about their emotions that I absorbed it and made it my own memory.

This visit was an important one to the school. It was recorded and broadcast on closed circuit television. This was in the late 1960’s. I always wonder if the recording still exists and if so, in what format.

Until I met Larry Woiwode and asked him about college courses I had no desire to be a writer. But after meeting him as a 12 year old, I realized that I had the power to create words that others might read and laugh or cry. But that is not the regret.

Here is the regret. Miss Woiwode was getting married soon after her student teaching in our classroom ended. She invited the entire class to the wedding. I think we even got invitations in the mail. Maybe not. But I distinctly recall standing in my room in front of my closet. My mom asked if I wanted to go to the wedding. I think I said no. My mom seemed relieved. It seems that she may have said something about me not having anything to wear to the wedding. This might have been the day before the wedding or weeks before it. I know that I really wanted to go, but pretended I didn’t.

After the wedding the girls that did go talked about it. It was beautiful. Miss Woiwode was beautiful. And they danced — they danced with the groom and they danced with the brother.

My regret is that I didn’t dance with Larry Woiwode.

I didn’t know this was a regret until I watched a couple of videos of Mr Woiwode addressing a group of people last year in his native state of North Dakota, then I realized that all these years I’ve regretted not going to that wedding and being in the same room with this man again.

So Larry – if you see this. I’ve saved a dance for you.