By Ann Farabee

Her hair was white. She moved a little slowly.

That meets the criteria for being old, right?

Yes, she was definitely old — in the eyes of our sixth-grade class.

She was a good teacher, but I may be a little prejudiced because I was her pet. She let me grade all the papers.

She let me sit at her desk and take names when she left the room. Trust me — I ran a taut ship during name taking.

I would write names on the chalkboard for all to see. However, if one of the names belonged to a cute boy, I may have occasionally erased it before the teacher got back in the room.

I always helped the teacher. It was my destiny.

No matter how many papers I graded for her, no matter how many times I took names for her, no matter how many times she let me sit at her desk in front of the classroom reading a textbook to the class — those things are not my main memory of sixth grade.

My main memory took place in the stairwell.

As we headed down the stairwell to go to lunch one day, my teacher turned around to look at us to make sure we were not talking and in a straight line.

As she turned back around, she missed a step. She fell.

There was a giggle or two from a couple of students, but it stopped immediately. The seriousness of the situation quickly became overwhelming, as we saw that she was not able to get up. We were all scared. All 30 of us remained motionless.

I felt helpless because our leader was helpless.

She cried out, “Somebody go get help!” The worst behaved kid in the class yelled, “I’ll go!”

As he ran for help, she cried out again, “Somebody try to lift me up!”

A couple of boys ran down that stairwell in two seconds flat.

They were there to help, although I recognized them as being classroom troublemakers, too.

A few days later, she returned to school with a cast on her arm.

During the emergency, I had remained motionless. I was not strong enough to lift her up, and I was not brave enough to run for help.

Me — the teacher’s pet, the paper grader, the name taker, the first in line. For the first time, I recognized the value in a couple of classmates that I had marked off as troublemakers. When it came to the emergency — I backed away, and they stepped forward.

I learned a lesson that day. I learned that I needed others.

Sometimes the ones we think are the worst are the ones who show up to lift us up.

1 Thessalonians 5:11 says, “Encourage one another and lift one another up.” Got that?

Encourage one another. Lift one another up. Simple and powerful.

God made us all, and we are all different.

Ann Farabee is a teacher, writer and speaker. Contact her at annfarabee@gmail.com or annfarabee.com.