I retired from 20 years of teaching in 1986, which means that I have been retired longer that I taught. One of the great pleasures of being a retired teacher on Martha’s Vineyard is running into former students who have chosen to live their lives on the Vineyard, or who left and then returned. Although I don’t always recognize my former students, they always recognize me. I used to pretend that I knew who I was talking to, but now I just say, and what is YOUR name? They are everywhere — two are bank tellers, one heads up MVTV, several are yoga teachers and store clerks — and one cleans my house for me twice a month. One picked me up off the floor when I fell in the Agricultural Hall several years ago. It is always a pleasure to run into a former student.

When I was in college some 70 years ago, I had no idea where my life would lead me. I didn’t even wonder about it because in the 1940s women were still expected to be housewives and mothers — or teachers, nurses or secretaries to important men. Life for women revolved around their choice of a husband and how good a cook and housekeeper they could be.

I was in my second semester when World War II ended, and veterans came home to begin, or resume, their college careers. I met my future husband late that year and we dated during my junior year. When he graduated from Brown University at the end of that year, I quit school and we were married in September 1947. I was 21 and I never wanted to be a secretary or a nurse or a teacher. I wanted to be a wife and mother. And so I was, bearing a son and two daughters before I was 30 years old.

Six years later, all three children were in school and I began to think about what I would do for the next 30 or 40 years, when they no longer needed me as a mother. (I didn’t realize, back then, that motherhood is forever.) I was there for my husband and the three children as long as they needed me, but I wasn’t really there for myself. After we had tried to make a living growing oysters and failed, Johnny got his teaching certificate and began a 27-year career as a math teacher in the newly-opened regional high school. It was a successful move for him, and I started to wonder if it might be a successful move for me. By the 1960s society was rethinking the idea of women working outside the home. But I didn’t have a college degree.

So I spent two years attending classes at three different colleges, and finally, at the age of 38, received my bachelor’s degree from Goddard College in Vermont. In September 1966 I began teaching sixth grade at the Edgartown School. Three years later the sixth grade was incorporated into the junior high and I became the language arts instructor for all three grades. I was 40 years old when I started my teaching career, and finally mature enough to feel I could do this important job.

It was probably one of the smartest decisions I have made in my life. I enjoyed all 20 years I was a teacher, even though I soon discovered that I was dealing with the most difficult years in a young child’s life — the transition from a child into an adult.

Recently, while cleaning out a closet, I came across a manila envelope filled with almost four dozen notes and cards from students I had so long ago. I tend to save things that have great meaning for me, and reading over some of these notes almost brought me to tears. Tears of joy and happiness that I had finally, at the age of 40, found a way to make a difference in a few lives, other than those of my family. Here are a few excerpts, unsigned.

Thanks to you I love to write and hopefully some day I’ll end up in the writing field.

Where were you Thursday and Friday — I was worried about you so much. Because you are my best teacher. Love you forever.

Every time I enter an art museum I think of those reports we did for you many years ago. I can see how you enjoy art so much.

This is just a quick thank you for your encouragement when I was a student of yours 20 years ago . . . . I wrote my first poem in your class and have been writing ever since.

And a couple of apologies, so rare in young teenagers.

I am very sorry of what I said Friday, May 4. I know that there was no reasonable excuse to say that, so I will attempt none. Please forgive me, I don’t usually do such things, but he has been getting under my skin. So if you want you may make any punishment you see fit — (I like to go to the club a lot, if you think I shouldn’t go, you would have no guarantee, but I wouldn’t go if you said it should be my punishment.) P.S. I will never do it again! I promise.

And finally, a note from the ninth grade English teacher at the high school who inherited my eighth grade every fall.

Thanks for making my life easier — happy retirement!

Shirley Mayhew lives in West Tisbury.