For no discernible reason, I started to think about my eighth grade English teacher, Nancy Zappulla. This started on Thursday morning. We can usually trace back these things: an old Ford Ranger leads me to a friend I knew in college; the sound of a whippoorwill leads me to summer mornings helping my mom water the flowers around the house.
I would like to emphasize that Nancy Zappulla appeared without any antecedent that I can recall.
As I continued my way through a very normal and pleasant day — mowing the lawn, practicing banjo, going to Home Depot to buy some accessories for my lava lamps, taking my sons to the community pool — I continued to think about Ms. Zappulla, who, as I said, was my English teacher in my eighth-grade 2001/2002 school year.
It was strange to be thinking of her — spontaneously thinking of her. We had not stayed in touch. Not that I have done a good job of staying in touch with anyone from my grammar school days, but with her there was nothing, no social media, shared friends, nothing. My last memory of seeing her in person was at a coffee shop in Appomattox where I was playing guitar as a senior in high school. An older lady with a self-knowing eccentricity about her, she wandered in with a friend, watched me play for a few minutes, nodded in acknowledgement, and wandered out without speaking to me. Now that I have logged fifteen years as an English teacher, I can certainly appreciate the scenario of seeing a student you taught, tolerated for a year, and don’t have much interest in interacting with ever again.
I wondered what had happened to Ms. Zappulla. Was she still alive? Had she moved from Appomattox? I had a phone in my pocket and she had a surname that made her easily searchable. But I kept finding reasons not to check, and I went about my day without searching.
Finally, in the evening after my boys had gone to bed, I Googled “Zappulla Appomattox.” There I found out via a publicly viewable Facebook post that she had indeed passed away.
She had passed away that day.
I read the FB post, did some more reflecting — all the while being duly freaked out. I shared this story with my wife, who was perhaps even more freaked out.
And now, in an effort to honor this visitation, I have shared this story with you.
Here is my valediction for Nancy Zappulla: she was a lifelong educator, an ordained minister. In the classroom, she was very open with us about her life, in the way that older teachers lose their filter and their hangups and will just share as it becomes relevant. She told us about the time she had a rare ocular disease that caused her to go temporarily blind, a state in which she lived for several months before recovering her vision (with some assistance — she was always wearing these extremely thick glasses). To that end, she always emphasized the blessings of sight, but sometimes encouraged us to utilize the limitations of its loss. Just close your eyes and write, I remember she once told us as a warm-up. In the fall she asked us to read The Yearling, and I didn’t read it as closely as I should have. Another memory: my friend Max was going through a lot of angst and life frustrations, wearing lots of Eminem attire — this was the absolute peak of Eminem. Ms. Zappulla gave Max a CD of Christian rap, which he politely accepted and ignored. Taking these big swings and misses like this is another connection I can make with her, twenty-plus years later.
I wonder if she will continue visiting me throughout the school year, or if this meager blog post is enough to satisfy her unfinished business with me. I’ll keep you updated. Until then, please read the obituary, and consider making a donation to the Alzheimer’s Association.