Writing the Mentor Text

Finally my essay is done! I have struggled with writing this mentor text for my students until my time had run out and it was down to the last days before our writing celebration. It was not for lack of thesis ideas for my personal essay. I had plenty. In fact, that was probably more of the problem. I had too many ideas. Although I think I knew in my heart all along what I needed to write about, it was not easy for me to put it on paper. Sometimes, however, the topics that are hardest to write about are those from the heart, those that mean the most to us and ultimately those that others will want to read and will make connections with. As I continued to remind my students as they wrote their personal essays, they are just that, personal. In order to 'breathe life into them' you need to tell the reader how you feel and give your reasons why.
As I have traveled through this unit of essay writing with my students I have learned as much as they. Teaching them to craft their thesis statements, and the reasons that support them was an important lesson in this journey. They have gained a clearer understanding of the difference between narrative and non-narrative structures and have practiced using narrative ideas that they collected earlier in the year, to embed into their essays. So now, on Wednesday, done or not, we will show what we have. We will be brave. We will show everyday courage and put our writing out for peers and teachers to read. We will compliment others on their efforts and will celebrate the success of what we have accomplished.

A Mother’s Worth
By Cheryl Mousseau


Webster’s Dictionary defines mother as a female parent. But that one word holds much more meaning to me. My mother was my friend, mentor and my finest teacher. She taught by example, she showed compassion and kindness, and she was patient and forgiving. It is no wonder that in her last days, a wise doctor said to her as we gathered by her side,
“What an incredible legacy you leave, in all you have done, with your wonderful family.”

Everything that I loved to do, she would find the time to do it with me. I would get out my coloring book and crayons and she would color with me. She would patiently trace new outfits for my paper dolls and sew new clothes for my baby dolls. I would hand her the clothespins as she hung the clothes on the outdoor line and together we would revel in the sound of the bed sheets as they whipped dry. I loved helping her do household chores because she made them fun. She made the extra time to include me whenever she did anything, even though it would have been much faster done if she had sent me off to play on my own. When she baked chocolate chip cookies, she made sure I got to crack the eggs, beat the batter, and finally lick the bowl! As years passed, we shopped together at the mall, we ate sundaes at Friendly’s and we spent many hours pouring over patterns and buying fabric for dresses at The Yardstick( my prom dress and even my wedding dress). Little by little, our friendship grew stronger; a friendship between a mother and a daughter that lasted a lifetime.

After I was married and my own sons were preschoolers, my husband and I spent 3 months at my parent’s house while we were waiting to close on our new house. I remember one day when we headed off with the boys in strollers to a yard sale, laughing about something silly, and a woman said to us, “Are you sisters? How nice that you are such good friends!” And we were. My mother was my friend. Someone I could depend on, someone I could confide in, someone I enjoyed spending time with. Going through her things after she passed away, I found letters she had saved that I had written to her while I was in college. I had forgotten about them. Ten page, hand-written letters where I had poured my heart out to her over events that seem trivial to me now but must have been so important at the time. She kept them to remind her, but more importantly now, it reminds me of what our friendship meant.

Being a good mentor and also a teacher is what parents should do. There is a fine balance between the two that mixes with the ability to be your child’s friend. My mother seemed to always know that balance. I knew that I could come to her for advice and she would give it without being judgmental and feel confident that whatever I chose to do, she would support me, even if my decision was not what she would have wished for me to make. She always said I was such an easy child, but I believe that was certainly because of the mother that she was. She taught by example and made it easy for me to want to be like her. She taught me the importance of family, of spending time with others, of good friends, of giving to community and church.

Through her example, I knew at a young age that I wanted to be a teacher. I helped her teach Sunday school classes and with her encouragement assisted in the curriculum development of the Kindergarten program when I was in high school. When I organized a neighborhood summer camp, she helped me plan the morning activities, suggesting songs, games, arts and crafts. She knew that these were all great learning opportunities for me as I moved toward my goal of being a teacher. Mother’s roles don’t end when their children leave home. Even as an adult, as a wife and mother, I depended on my mother for advice and support. After my sons were born, it was my mother I would call when one of them was sick or cranky; when they cut their first tooth, or wouldn’t eat their mashed peas. Sometimes because I just wanted to share these moments with her, but many times it was because I valued her opinion. She was a good listener but also knew exactly what to say to reassure me.

How do we judge a person’s worth? Maybe at days end, if we can say we’ve done the best that we can do, then that should be enough. At the end of our lives to know that we can look back and smile, with little regrets, and know that we’ve made a difference in our children’s lives and the lives of others. As I sat by my mother’s hospital bed in her final days, I am so glad that I told her that she was “the best mother ever”. Her reply to me was, “I hope so.” It was easy for me to then finally reassure her, as she had done for me all those years, and say, “Yes, you were the best mother a daughter could ask for. Yes, you were.”