On Tuesday evening I met some girlfriends for happy hour at a bar I had never been to, but they have two-dollar tacos and five-dollar margaritas.  You can’t beat those prices for a taco Tuesday.  As we caught up over chips, guac, delicious el pastor tacos, and mediocre margaritas, our conversation ultimately drifted toward our dating lives, as it inevitably will when three single women gather around food and drinks.  Being single and dating in a big city can feel exhausting and overwhelming, but it’s also exciting and exhilarating, and it’s made infinitely easier when you have friends to share it with who are in the same boat.  I think this is true of any point in our lives.  Whether you are a newlywed, a young mother, an empty-nester, a widow, a divorcee, or anything in between – it always helps to have a support system of friends who can sympathize and empathize because they know exactly what you are going through.  They’re right there with you.

After covering all the bases of our recent dating stories, we wrapped up dinner and I stepped away to use the restroom.  As I made my way toward the rear, I heard the words that I’ve have always feared would be shouted at me in a bar.  “Ms. M——–!” It took me a couple steps to process what I had just heard, and as I slowed down, I prayed my ears had deceived me.  As I turned around and searched the area I thought the voice had emanated from, I spotted a tall, hefty young man in a baseball hat and glasses walking toward me.  “Ms. M———-!” There it was again.  No mistake.  I replied, “Heeeeeeey! How are you!” Every teacher who has encountered a former student knows exactly what that “Hey,” sounded like.  It’s the “Hey” that means “I have no idea who you are, but I’m going to keep talking to you while I search my memory banks in the hopes that something you say will register, and I’ll remember your name.”  It didn’t work, and I ultimately had to say “Remind me who you are again?” Always a fun sentence to say.  When he told me his name, I absolutely remembered him, but never would have recognized him in a million years – because he is now a twenty-five-year-old man.

He turned toward the table he had just vacated and told the five twenty-something men sitting there, “Hey guys! This was my sophomore year English teacher.” Their eyes visibly widened and one of them blurted “Wow! You do not look your age!” This is becoming a pattern.  I shook all their hands, got their names, and spent a few minutes talking with Tyler.  As I talked to him, it dawned on me that I never actually taught him – I just knew him well from my two years subbing at Marian.  We have a remarkable ability to rewrite our own histories, and it was clear he fully believed I had taught him.  Incidentally, he was also one of those kids you could easily get to know just by seeing him in the hallway.  His infectious smile, gregarious nature, and outgoing personality made him easily recognizable and almost universally well liked, and I could see that those same traits were serving him well as an adult.  After filling me in on his job since college and his plans for grad school in the fall he said “Oh man, I can’t believe I saw you here. Can I buy you a drink?”  I told him I was finishing up dinner with friends, but if I found myself in need of a drink later he could certainly buy me one.

Back at the table with my friends, I filled them in on what had just transpired, and that I planned to stop and talk to the table of young men on our way out.  As we made our way toward to the door, I introduced my friends to Tyler and his buddies, and ultimately accepted their invitation to have a drink at a bar across the street – but only because one of my friends said she would join me.  Even though Tyler is now an adult, I felt squeamish going with them by myself.  As we walked up to the bar, he asked us if we would like a shot, and I politely declined, ordering a gin and tonic instead.  As final proof that part of him is still a kid, he then asked if he could take a picture with me and send it to his Marian friends. Hit with alarming visions of my photo being snapped and re-snapped, I felt the need to draw a hard line.  I said absolutely not – but he could certainly tell them he ran into me and bought me a drink.  One of his friends looked at him and huffed with palpable exasperation, “Duuude. Why do you gotta ask her that? Seriously.”

Ultimately, I ended up having a wonderful conversation with Tyler about his time at Marian and even asked him if he would be willing to share some of his observations with our administration.  It was heartwarming to hear his positive thoughts about the school, and the fact that he was and will continue to be a donor.  His time at Marian affected him so deeply that he feels the need to give back as much and as often as possible – even at such a young age.

As I was leaving, Tyler invited me to brunch on Sunday – to a place where he and his friends regularly order the fifteen-dollar bottomless mimosas.  I’m all about bottomless mimosas, but certainly not with a former student.  I told him I wasn’t sure of my weekend plans, but I would definitely be contacting him about opportunities for him to share his thoughts on Marian and to give back to the school in a way that doesn’t involve a single dollar.  It’s funny because in a way talking to Tyler was like talking to a stranger.  The seven years between graduation and relative adulthood had transformed the boy I knew into a confident and capable young man who is clearly going places even as he maintains a firm sense of where he came from and the debt he owes to the people and places that formed him.  I can’t say I’ll be thrilled the next time I hear my last name shouted in a bar – but I just might be a little less alarmed.