I love it when readers of Surviving Sue highlight the kind people who entered my life when I needed help the most, navigating the choppy waters of life with my mom, Sue.
- There were times I thought help would never arrive.
- There were times I convinced myself Sue was fine; I was the problem.
- There were times I believed the whole world was afraid of Sue.
But I never lost hope. I saw the glimmers of goodness in people, the softness in their eyes, the unspoken empathy. Some days, that was enough.
In this excerpt from Surviving Sue, I share one of the angels on my path, an unassuming school secretary who saw I was at risk; a new kid transferring into eighth grade in the middle of the school year.
I found the office easily, introduced myself and explained I was moving to town and needed the “new kid” registration papers – I would be starting in January. The lady in a camel sweater looked over her glasses at me and asked, “Where’s your mom?” I explained that she was in the car with my sister, and I just needed to pick up the papers, and I’d bring them back the next day.
Camel sweater lady explained that I needed to have official school records sent from my current school and asked where I was attending – right then – now. I stumbled on that question because I wasn’t expecting it. The truth was I hadn’t been “in school” for three months. Was I about to be busted for truancy? I gave a partial answer and said yes, I had the records, just not with me and I stammered on about moving logistics and left out the part about when I left my last school. She didn’t seem to care but gave me a knowing look that said, it’s okay honey – I can see there’s more going on here but I’m not gonna push you. I had that feeling before. Adults looking at me and “reading me” in the moment, as if had a billboard on my forehead that advertised my pain. She saw it and was curious but didn’t drill down.
I learned the camel sweater lady’s name –Ms. Johnson – and for the six months I was enrolled, she kept a watchful eye on me. On days when I really felt like a middle school outcast, she let me eat lunch with her. She had a teensy side table next to her desk that overlooked the front lawn of the school, and we’d pretend to be “in a meeting,” discussing things I was writing and our travel dreams. She explained to the other staff that I was her volunteer assistant and to keep that illusion alive, I did help her with filing and sorting the mail. I’m sure there were a ton of privacy violations, but no one cared. I loved the interaction between the staff members and principal. There was a school social worker, but I never spoke with her. She was always in her office dealing with upset parents, but she seemed pleasant enough.
I regret not staying in touch with Ms. Johnson. I think her kindness and openness – allowing me into her work-world – was more impactful than she could ever have imagined. Mary Tyler Moore was the runaway popular television show at the time, and I fancied Ms. Johnson (both in terms of how she dressed – always very smart and polished – and her bouffant flipped hairdo) as my real-life “Mary.” She looked out for me and became an encouraging female role model – especially after I saw how she handled a couple of run-ins with Sue. When she could, Ms. Johnson defended me and put Sue in her place. She was the one and only redeeming feature during the stint in St. Louis.
–Surviving Sue, pgs. 45-46
Today, whenever I meet someone who offers a gentle, hesitant look, I pause. I try my darndest to convey, “I’m here. I’m safe.” Just like Ms. Johnson did for me, a whopping fifty years ago.
Last week, when I wrote about the sweet woman in search of sneakers in my post More Than Blue Shoes, I promised I’d share three more stories with similar, heartfelt vibes. Let’s begin with “Norman”, the pest control guy.
Norman
I don’t enjoy having our house treated for creepy, crawly critters, but we live in an area with loads of open space and spiders enjoy coming indoors for the winter—if we don’t plan ahead and call our trusty pest control service.
We never know which “bug guy” is coming, but they’re always on time, respectful and diligent as they work through each room, spraying what I’m told is the most eco of eco-friendly deterrents. Still, I don’t like the lingering aroma, so I make sure every window is open—to air out the overly sweet, chemical odor.
When “Norman” arrived for the fall bug busting, he and hubby, Paul, ventured first to the basement to check the mousetraps (luckily, they were empty and have been since the siege…four years ago…which I don’t want to talk about…ever again).
Before heading outside to spray the foundation and zap some late-season hornet’s nests, Norman and Paul did a sweep of the first floor, spraying baseboards. Then they moved upstairs, doing the circuit, room by room, arriving in my office where I sat working. The final upstairs stop.
I greeted Norman and said I’d get out of his way (for his ease but also because of the aforementioned odor) and asked if he’d like a cold drink. Standard operating procedure around here. With all the remodeling we’ve done, we keep our fridges stocked with every type of water you can imagine–flavored, sparkling, electrolyte infused…
Norman says, “A water would be great.”
I drill down. “What’s your pleasure? We have just about everything…” rattling off choices.
He smiles. “I’ll take a watermelon water. Sounds great!”
I head to the kitchen to fetch Norman’s water and listen to his footfalls on the ceiling as he makes the rounds in my office and then heads downstairs, ready to go outside with Paul.
“Thank you so much, Norman. Here’s your watermelon water. It’s one of my favorites.”
He removes his gloved hand and shakes mine and mentions to Paul– as he heads outside–that he’ll be right behind him.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question,” Norman says, giving me a look of hesitancy as he twists the cap off his water, takes a sip.
“Not at all. Want another water to take with you?”
“No, no. I mean…I hope you don’t think I’m being creepy, but I noticed all the degrees and stuff on your walls–upstairs. Really cool. Can I ask what you do?”
I smile. “Oh…those. Yes. I was lucky to get all the education I wanted over the years. I’ve got a few degrees, I spend my time helping people, writing.”
“Wow. Like books?”
“Yah. It’s fun, but I’ve done a lot of things…” thinking about all the part-time jobs I had doing everything I could to cover tuition when times were tight. I wonder if Norman’s in college. My mind floods with questions, but I keep my eyes on him, my smile wide and encouraging.
“I’m doing this,” he says, “for now”, pointing to his coveralls and protective gear. “I haven’t had the chance yet, you know, to go to school. I have two younger brothers who are in college now and I’m doing what I can to help them. Maybe it’ll be my turn when they’re done. We’ll see.”
Now my heart is fully engaged. “What are you interested in?”
“Oh…I love art. I saw the things you have in your house. You like a lot of different styles — your art nouveau posters are cool. You love Toulouse-Lautrec, too?”
“I do. We do”, pointing to a poster I brought back from France decades ago. “Little treasures here and there.”
“One of your degrees–I’m sorry, I noticed it upstairs in your office–says you have a Master of Arts. Do you mind if I ask what that means?”
“Oh…no. It doesn’t mean I’m an artist. It’s a way of saying liberal arts. That degree was in psychology. I know; how confusing, right?”
Normal laughs. “Yah…there’s a lot I don’t know. Thanks for answering my questions. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”
“My pleasure. I love that you’re thinking ahead to when it’s your turn to go to school. Your questions, your interest? Keep going. Talk to everyone you know about what you want to do and keep exploring. Sounds like you’re an awesome big brother.”
Norman nodded and grinned. “I do what I can, they drive me nuts but that’s family for ya.”
And that was that. Norman joined Paul as they walked the perimeter of the house, taking care of the hornet’s nests, saying goodbye. We might not see Norman again, but I hope our brief conversation was encouraging. A moment of connection, for sure.
Later, I thought about my encounter with Norman and felt a wave of gratitude—for the life I have, my family, being able to go to college, earn degrees—while doing my best to help others…give back.
I pushed myself to do better, become educated because I always knew, “there but for the grace of God, go I” — recognizing the limitations my sweet sister Lisa would never escape. Hampered by intellectual disabilities on top of physical challenges, Lisa would never have the opportunities I did. I worked hard, yes. Absolutely. But these days I understand one truth better than ever:
I needed to go to school because I could go to school.
I did the work–for myself–and for Lisa, too.
My encounter with Norman ushered in welcome reflection; about the privilege of being a sibling, looking out for one another.
Thank you so much for being here. I’ve got two more stories to share in this series, and I’ll hope you’ll stay tuned.
Vicki 💝
Hi – I’m Victoria, Vicki, Dr. Vicki. I hold a doctorate in Adult Education and I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), and author of Surviving Sue and Slivers.
Check out this link to learn more about Surviving Sue – a memoir about resilience and love. Check out this link to order Slivers in paperback, a ghost story with surprising twists. Click here for the e-Book.
Check out my interview with publisher, Rick Kaempfer from Eckhartz Press.
P.S. Are you on Substack? If so, I’d love to connect with you there: Vicki Atkinson, Ed.D | Substack
Copyright ©2026 victoriaponders.wordpress.com – All rights reserved
Leave a Reply