This was written years ago as a scholarship entry and tribute to my favorite elementary school teacher.

According to the Random House Dictionary, a "hero" is classified as "a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities...regarded as a model or ideal."  While that is a fairly accurate description, I do not need a book to define the word.  I, fortunately, came face to face with Mrs. Brenda Peterson on a daily basis.  Though I only knew her for one brief year, she quickly became my true hero.

I met Mrs. Peterson at the tender age of nine when I first entered her fourth grade classroom, Room 207.  It wasn’t her ocean-blue eyes or rust-colored hair which captivated me, nor was it her soft, Southern voice.  In fact, her lovely physical appearance was never her appeal to me; I was intrigued by her heart.

Warmer and more satisfying than a homemade pie, Mrs. Peterson’s heart was filled with compassion, understanding, and a joy for life.  She gave individual attention to each of her students, hoping to help each one learn and grow in his or her own special way.

While I had previously felt school was a chore, it suddenly became fun and exciting!  Mrs. Peterson recognized my learning abilities and did not suppress me, as my mother and I felt some of my earlier teachers had done.  She revealed a fresh world to me that year, one in which I was discovering new and challenging concepts.  I became inspired and ignited by the spark with which she taught us.

No longer was I scared to leave the comfort of my mother to venture into life on my own.  There was no need to fear school with Mrs. Peterson nearly acting as my "surrogate mother" during the day.  She made each of us feel loved, accepted, and safe.

Safe, until one day.

The day came when we all learned about one of life’s sad truths.  Mrs. Peterson had cancer, and Mrs. Peterson was going to die.

Die.  Even then the word caught in my throat.  I knew we were facing a grim reality.  The expressions on the faces of my classmates said they knew it, too.  Suddenly, we had a surge of questions.  Exactly what was cancer?  What kind of cancer did she have?  Was she going to leave us immediately?  What would we do?

Although some of the answers were unclear, we were told what was known.  Mrs. Peterson was a fighter, and her breast cancer wasn’t going to remove her from our fourth grade classroom.  She was staying with us to continue our lessons.

Even though Mrs. Peterson had to leave for brief periods of time, she taught us more than an average lesson plan could.  From doctor’s visits to operations and medications to new treatments, Mrs. Peterson managed to muster up enough strength to carry her own weight and guide ours.  Through difficult questions and agonizing, trying times, she taught us courage, patience, and faith.  She taught us that nothing in this world, including cancer, was worth giving in and giving up.  She taught us to stand tall, in her shadow, and fight for the lives we deserve.  In those moments she seemed larger than life, and my nine-year-old mind knew she would live forever.

Mrs. Brenda Peterson died in March of 1994, succumbing to her decade-long battle with various types of cancer.  I was saddened when I heard the news of her death, even years after leaving that fourth grade classroom, yet I was thankful for her life.  I was thankful I had been given the brief opportunity to be affected by her.  While she sadly had to leave behind a young husband and three small children, she also grandly left behind a spark.

The spark was and is within me.  It is the spark to teach, enriching the lives or our youth, positively helping to sculpt young people, as she once did.  I am sure her spark is also in others that her life touched while she was on this Earth.

Though it took me a few years to discover my "dream career" was partly in elementary education, I bet Mrs. Peterson wouldn’t have been surprised.  Even at our young ages, she took the time to get to know her students quite well; she probably saw the spark within me a long time ago, long before I first recognized it.  As my admiration for her is high, I only hope I will be half as good of a teacher as she was.

Upon visiting our elementary school yesterday, I passed by Mrs. Peterson’s old room, Room 207.  Peeking in as I passed by, a smile crossed my face, and I felt a warm glow inside.  Once again I felt safe, happy with where I was.  I was briefly saddened, however, knowing her cheerful face was not on the other side of the door.  At that moment I only wished I could see her at least once more to thank her for the gift she left on this Earth for me...my spark!