My heroine of women\'s history month

I cannot think about March being Women\'s History Month without remembering Mrs Lillian Williams, my 12th-grade English teacher at Henry Snyder High School in my hometown of Jersey City, New Jersey. Mrs Williams died of cancer in September 2010, and it was one of the saddest days of my life. I only attended Snyder High for one year, after being kicked out of another school for saying something rude to my guidance counselor. When he realized I did not even live in that school\'s district, he had me shipped to Snyder. At that time, Snyder High had a reputation as one of the worst schools in the state of New Jersey. Indeed, when I showed up, students were out front smoking cigarettes, arguing or fighting, and openly dissing each other, teachers, and administrators. I had not seen anything like that since my early years at an inner-city grade school. So, here I was now at a high school that was 99% poor and black or Latino, where many of the teachers seemed either terrified or indifferent to the students. Yet, there was Mrs Williams, forever smiling, forever optimistic, and clearly madly in love with us students. I simply did not get her at first – her litany of sayings like \"A dictionary is man\'s best literary friend,\" or why she took a particularly keen interest in me once she recognized I could write and had a deep love of books. Truth be told, I was utterly afraid of what the world had awaiting a ghetto child like me, as I approached high-school graduation and my 18th birthday – the age my mother had declared from the time I could comprehend words at which I had to go either to college or to the military, anything that would take me away from her care, once and for all. Mrs Williams was the first teacher I ever had who aggressively encouraged me to write, who put me in two different essay contests, including a city-wide competition – which I won, landing me in the local newspaper. I cannot tell you how low my self-esteem was during my youth – and how much Mrs Williams\' belief in me made me believe in myself, made me believe that I could possibly have a life as a writer, something I\'d dreamt of since I was 11. And it was Mrs Williams who would not accept my sprained ankle from a track meet as the reason why I could not make a college admissions exam. I had resigned myself to missing it as I could barely walk. Mrs Williams told me she would come and carry me if she had to, to that admissions test. Instead, she drove me there, and waited for several hours until I was done. For she saw something in me that I did not remotely see in myself. The last time I saw Lillian Williams alive was when I was running for US Congress, in the summer of 2010. A fundraiser was organized for me in Jersey City (in spite of my running for office in New York City). My hometown community simply wanted to support my cause. Mrs Williams was no longer herself. Her husband, Dr Franklin Williams, had died the year before, and they had been soulmates, life partners, best friends, and fellow educators. In fact, Dr Williams was the very first black superintendent of schools for Jersey City – he and she both trailblazers in so many ways, together. Mrs Williams had asked me to be the speaker at her husband\'s funeral, and I did, telling how he, years before I knew Mrs Williams or their connection, had helped my mother when she was having difficulty with a grade-school principal. Seemingly still distraught over her husband\'s passing, Lillian Williams was deflated and appeared so very lonely. I felt bad for her and vowed I would call and visit more often. But I never got that opportunity. Within a couple of months, I got word that she was battling cancer. Ever the strong persona, few knew she had the disease. Just a few days after I lost my congressional election, I learned that Mrs Williams had died. I cried uncontrollably, and thought of the woman who never stopped supporting me long after high school, who religiously clipped and saved my articles, bought many of my books, and often showed up to my speeches in the New York area. Lillian Williams followed and supported me literally until her death. At Mrs Williams\' funeral, I sat listening to the testimonies of students from different generations with the exact same tales as mine. Of her generosity and kindness. Of her dedication to our educations and to our lives. My admiration and awe of Mrs Lillian Williams, who died at 78, was complete. I had to leave the church for a bit to compose myself, and thought of not returning because I could not accept her death in that moment. But a text from her nephew asked me to come back to say a few words. I cannot recall all I said, but I do remember leading with these words: \"Lillian Williams lives forever.\"