What do people remember about you?
When, in February 2009, I called my Primary-1 teacher, Mrs Banks, in Buckie, to offer condolences on the death of her husband, I identified myself by my maiden name, ‘Cowie,’ the name she’d remember me by.
But there were many ‘Margaret Cowies’ in Buckie at that time. I could have any one of them.
Her response was “Hello Margaret! I do remember you! You were adopted!”
That certainly wasn’t the response I expected from a teacher. I’d heard that often enough from classmates, who tried to use it, is a taunt, in the playground.
Mrs Banks, or “Miss Babs,” as we called her, went on to tell me that I was one of the pupils she never forgot. I’d tried hard at my lessons. I still remember the gold stars she gave in my jotter.
“You were adopted!” is almost an accusation. At least, it sounds like one to an adoptee, more so when it’s said out of context.
So that is the beginning of my 60 years, and how it seems I’m remembered in Buckie.
