Remembering Connie Lawrence – 30 Years Later

When she moved from this world to the next – 30 years ago this month – I wondered to what extent my mother’s legacy would endure in the hearts and minds of the students she taught over the course of her 37 years as an educator in Owego. I knew the hundreds of cards we received upon her passing would be tucked away in a box, I knew my father, my sister and I would try to remember the sentiments shared by the hundreds of people who stood in line for hours to pay their respects, and I hoped that my mother’s yet-to-be-born grandchildren would be able to experience – somehow – the impact she had on her community. 

Fourteen months after I held my mother’s hand as she took her last breath, I held my newborn daughter’s hand as she took her first. Over the years I brought all three of my daughters to Owego often (I live but a half hour away), and I was so grateful when one of my mom’s former students or colleagues took the time to share a memory. My daughters heard about their grandmother’s involvement in the Christmas League, about her passion for teaching and that she inspired many others to become educators. They learned that she was a tireless advocate for the underserved in the community, a fierce anti-bullying voice, that she was instrumental in starting girls’ softball in Owego, was a committed community activist, and they came to realize that their father’s love for storytelling stretched back at least one generation. 

Of the hundreds of stories that have been shared over the past 30 years, one stands out as an example of how a person’s legacy can serve not only as a collection of stories, but as a garden of sorts – a garden in which other acts of kindness and generosity can take root and bloom. That story involves a little girl and a pink coat.

Several years ago one of my mom’s former students – now in her fifties and a mother and grandmother – engaged me in Owego, and said, “I would like to tell you about something I experienced as a child, something I will never forget.” 

I told her I would love to hear the story, and as she wiped the first tear to appear at the corner of her eye, she continued.  

“I was one of several children, and our family had very little extra money. Your mother was the principal of my elementary school – I was in the first or second grade – and she saw me crying one day.  She took me aside and asked me why I was crying, and I told her that I had worn one of my brothers’ hand-me-down coats to school, and some kids had made fun of me. They laughed at me and said I looked like a boy.  She gave me a hug, told me I did not look like a boy – that I was a very pretty little girl – and she asked me to come into the school through the back door the next morning.”  

At this point, I was also looking for a tissue, as I had a sense as to where this story was going. 

“The next morning, as requested, I came into the school through the back door,” the woman offered, “and Mrs. Lawrence was waiting for me. She handed me a bag, and inside was a beautiful, brand new pink coat.  It fit me perfectly, it was the first new coat I had ever owned, and I have never forgotten how it made me feel.” 

The woman was kind enough to convey that the pink coat – or more specifically, how the coat made her feel – would help to shape the way she chose to live her life, personally and professionally, and she has put forth a continuous effort to pay it forward.  

When the new elementary school was being built after the flood, another former student launched a social media campaign to have the school named after my mother; and while that wish was not granted, the effort garnered hundreds of signatures and nearly 500 comments in support of the idea. It was a great gift to our family to read through those comments, and to be reminded once again that while we might be, as the song stated, “Dust in the Wind,” the seeds of kindness we sow can be blown across towns, across countries, and across generations.  

While that pink coat – wherever it is – has likely faded, its impact never will. I extend my sincere thanks to the woman who shared that beautiful memory, and to everyone who has helped to keep my mother’s legacy alive for the past 30 years. She loved you all.