Friday morning, Vicki did the same thing just about
every other Millennial did that same day.
She got up out of bed, probably still tired from Thursday night- there’s
never enough sleep around the holidays.
She probably hit the snooze button once or twice, and then dragged
herself to get dressed for work. She was
likely relieved that a long week was almost over. Thinking about which holiday sweater party
she might attend in the days to come, what to wear, which holiday cookies and
desserts to bake, what to get her siblings for Christmas. How to make one of the final Fridays before
vacation memorable for her kids- ironically, she would indeed accomplish this,
though not in any way she could have possibly imagined or prepared herself for.
Maybe she had a big breakfast; maybe she’s like me
and doesn’t eat much for breakfast.
Maybe she was late and didn’t have time to. I’m told she lived with her parents- not
uncommon among Millennials either. For
some it’s a money thing: some can’t
afford to live independently; others just don’t see a whole lot of sense in
wasting rent money on an apartment that could go toward paying bills or debts,
or just saved for some time down the road when the money might actually be
needed. For other Millennials- and for
what it’s worth, I think most who live with their parents are this way- it’s
that they don’t want to get a roommate, but don’t want to live alone. They’re too involved in their careers and
social lives to settle down and get married, but the whole Friends thing just
isn’t for them. Whatever Vicki’s reason,
I’m guessing she spent between 45 minutes and 2 hours between the time her
alarm went off and the time she left for work at her parents’ house, with her
parents and maybe a sibling or two, all hustling to get off to a career that
was probably one of the most important things in her life: something she’d probably worked toward since a
time when she wasn’t much older than the children she taught.
It seems all of us her age are committed to our
careers and social lives- it’s what makes us who we are. Millennials want to be able to say that what
they do for a living has meaning. That
our careers aren’t some vain vehicle for paying the bills. Vicki Soto wanted to make a difference in the
lives of America’s youth- and she would.
Whether it was 45 minutes or 2 hours, I’m certain
Vicki spent a decent portion of it rushing around, thinking but a few of the million thoughts that
race through the mind of any 27 year old every morning. “What am I going to do
this weekend? I’m late again! Is this the right job for me? How long should I stay at it? Should I do something else? Why am I still single? What’s for dinner? What am I going to wear, today? Do my shoes match this outfit? I love this shirt, but I hate having to get
it pressed! This one’s starting to fray
around the collar. Can I squeeze another month out of it, until I can afford a
new one?” And when that 45 minutes to 2
hours was up, whether she bid each of her family members goodbye with a warm
embrace, a passing verbal exchange, or perhaps, in her rush, didn’t have time
but knowing they all loved each other and said and did nothing, drove off to
the job that had become such an integral part of her life- out of her family’s
lives forever.
The only sin she committed was being exactly like
all the rest of us- going to work to do a job she loved. I’d like to think that if my job required me
to sacrifice my life, that I’d do as Vicki did.
I pray to God I never get the chance.
When people die young, it’s one of the hardest
things to comprehend. I like to think of
each person’s life as a book, replete with exciting pages and chapters. Vicki’s “book” feels like it stops reading,
mid sentence, and has only blank pages following. Vicki could’ve taught 30 more classes just
like the one she had this year. Instead,
those 30 classes will have to make do with some permanent sub. She’s just like a girl that I, or any one of
my friends might’ve gone on a date with or at the very least been friends with,
and when the fit was right, married. Instead,
somewhere, today, a guy who might’ve met her at school or church, a charity
event, or maybe even a bar, will have to find another girl to marry, because
the one he would’ve married isn’t here- he probably never even got the pleasure
of meeting her. Children who could’ve
followed in their mother’s footsteps and illuminated our world never will- in
fact, the world will never know them. How
many weddings in the years to come are missing a bridesmaid or maid of
honor? How many Christmases and birthdays
are forever ruined by a hole that’ll never be filled? Whatever will become of Christmas gifts and
tidings Vicki had intended to give to family and friends, that never will be,
or of those tidings and gifts intended for her, that are never to be
received?
This giving season, Vicki gave the world in which
she lived some of the greatest gifts of all.
She gave her classroom her love for them. She gave them their lives. She gave them the chance to see, first hand,
what sacrifice means. How society’s
interests are more important than those of its individual members, yet at the
same time, how one member of society can be so vital to its existence or
decadence- indeed she was only one member, as was Adam Lanza. She gave these children the chance to become
doctors and lawyers, and software programmers, and even teachers; the chance to
have families and be husbands, brothers, sisters, mothers. She gave them generations of Christmas joy in
return for a lifetime of her own. She
gave these people to America, and in doing so, showed America what love and
care for others can do, even in the face of evil. In fact she showed us why good always beats
evil. Adam Lanza’s spirit won’t live,
nor will Eric Harris’s. Their names will
be remembered but their personalities long forgotten. The Vicki Sotos and Rachel Scotts of the
world are dead, but their spirits can’t be killed. Bullets and guns can’t kill the memory of the
time that one of their victims helped a member of society. They can’t kill an act of kindness, or the feeling someone who knew that person gets when thinking about him or her. They can’t give amnesia to survivors.
Vicki reminded the world of this, as she taught it
to her class on Friday. They’ll spent
15-20 more years in school- they’ll study Spanish, Calculus, and Organic
Chemistry; they’ll pull all nighters popping Adderall cramming to get their next
A, and perhaps never again learn such an important or difficult lesson as they
did Friday morning. It was the last
thing Vicki Soto ever did. 27 years of
work, for one moment of love, that will inspire generations. Those who knew and loved Vicki Soto will have
children and grandchildren of their own.
Some will bear her name. When
they smile, the world will see Vicki smiling; they’ll weave silky prose into
eloquent speech, and the world will once again hear Vicki’s voice. One sweet day some warm, bright May morning, when one of these students, or
one of their children or grandchildren does something magnificent- graduates
medical school, or becomes an elected official, or a teacher, or does any
number of the great things Americans do each and every day- the world will see
Vicki Soto again, and know that she never really left us; that she’d been here,
with us, all along. Today’s tears of
sadness will be tomorrow’s tears of joy.
As I stated in the introduction, unique as Vicki
was, she’s just like everyone else her age.
We’re all capable of giving to the world the gifts God has given us, for
we are His gifts to the world; and we’re
all capable of noticing and appreciating those gifts that others have been
given, for they’re His gifts to each
of us. Would that this holiday season,
we remember Vicki and everyone else who died Friday, just as they’d lived- by
trying just a little bit harder to see God in our brethren and sistren, and
make them see Him in us, that we might all best relish each Christmas season.
