In Lunch with Miss Veezi, I reflect on the lasting influence of my 3rd-grade teacher, whose lessons are timeless and deeply relevant to the challenges we face in the modern world. What started as a nostalgic reconnection after my book Covered in Flour has grown into a renewed friendship, with discussions touching on family, education, and the importance of understanding different perspectives in an ever-changing landscape.
We all have that one teacher, don’t we? The one who pops into our minds even decades later. They’re the ones who managed to leave a mark, making us think a little deeper, dream a little bigger—or maybe even find courage we didn’t know we had. They leave embers in our hearts that wait patiently to be stirred back to flame, warming us with remembered wisdom just when we need it most.
As I prepared to meet with Miss Veezi, my husband Mike accompanied me for this special occasion. As we crossed the street and neared the family bakery in Little Italy, a rush of anticipation and nostalgia washed over me at the sight of Miss Veezi. Even after 56 years, her unmistakable presence struck me as profoundly as ever. The FaceTime call the previous week had rekindled my excitement, and now, standing face to face, I couldn't help but feel a blend of my adult self and the wide-eyed boy who had once sat in her classroom. Miss Veezi and I exchanged a warm hug, smiles growing as we reunited.
Inside the bakery, recipes passed down through generations filled the air with the aromas of cannoli and freshly brewed espresso. Standing beside the dessert glass case, brimming with mouth-watering baked goods, memories flooded back. I introduced myself proudly to the young man behind the counter, who was ready to serve us.
"Is my cousin Claudia here?" I asked, ordering my favorite pepperoni-stuffed bread while sharing our family's longstanding connection to the bakery. The kitchen door swung open, and Claudia emerged with a warm smile. Though many years had passed, our bond remained strong. We quietly exchanged words about loved ones lost, a bittersweet reminder of life's impermanence, yet it reaffirmed our enduring ties—an echo of the recurring themes in my life.
Eagerly we made our way to the nearby trattoria, where the aroma of simmering garlic and tomato sauce welcomed us. As we settled into a quiet corner of the room, Miss Veezi and I caught up while Mike smiled, observing our lively exchange of memories.
Born the same year in the '40s, Miss Veezi and Mike connected quickly. She asked if Mike had served in Vietnam. He recounted his time there as a soldier, sharing his experiences as an officer's assistant. When I inquired about her thoughts on the Vietnam War and race riots, she reflected on how the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy deeply affected her. "I admired Robert Kennedy. His death hit me harder than I could have imagined," she said, her voice soft, her gaze distant.
"What do you remember most about that year?" I asked, curious. Miss Veezi's eyes, still bright with the passion for teaching I remembered, reflected a mix of fondness and complexity that defined the times we were recalling.
Sharing her personal experiences from 1968, "It was a tough year for me," she admitted. "I lost my only sibling, my brother, and I took on the responsibility of caring for my mother after my father passed away. Teaching became my escape, my joy. Those were difficult times," she revealed, her voice conveying the weight of personal and societal upheaval. Her words painted a picture of a woman who anchored herself in teaching despite her struggles.
As our discussion deepened, Miss Veezi—Sandy, as she asked me to call her—recalled how her exposure to different perspectives began during her college years at Ohio State. "I was Jewish, and my roommates were Methodist and Catholic. It was the first time I truly encountered people with beliefs and backgrounds different from my own," she explained. "That experience taught me the value of learning from others' perspectives. The three of us became close friends, and we still visit one another."
It struck me how her dedication had fostered a safe space for her students during turbulent times, much like the refuge I found in our family during uncertain periods. Her classroom had always been more than a place to learn; it was a space of discovery where we were encouraged to question and explore—a theme I echoed throughout my book.
The discussion flowed naturally to what had inspired me to write Covered in Flour. I explained, "My inspiration came from the people dearest to me—my husband Mike, and Tom and Nora Bailey, my family of choice, who urged me to capture the stories I'd often share around the dinner table. The setting of the 1960s mirrored a pivotal period for me and my generation." I couldn't help but marvel at how the themes of family, cultural identity, and coming of age during social change were mirrored in our dialogue. Sandy's recollections added depth to my story, bringing the historical context of my childhood to life.
Laughter punctuated our reflections, adding lightness to our conversation. Sandy came prepared with questions after reading my book, her insight reaffirming the universal themes I hoped to convey. She mentioned compiling a list of lessons from the book and asked if they were intentional, noting that it could serve as a valuable resource for young people facing similar challenges. "How did you remember so much? Did you include these lessons intentionally?" I nodded, grateful for her perceptiveness.
As she spoke of her passion for supporting her Temple and creating videos for their causes, I saw the same dedication to community and education that had always inspired me. Her candid reflections were both humorous and insightful. "I've made some questionable choices in my youth," she said, laughing. "But I've learned a lot and grown wiser over the years."
Our exchange turned to Mike. "And what about you?" Sandy asked. "What's your story?" Mike grinned, never one to miss an opportunity to share. "I owned my own water treatment and environmental services business for over 35 years—some call it the 'Shit Business,'" he said, making Sandy laugh. "I worked as a sales representative, ensuring people had safe water and protecting the environment. It wasn't glamorous, but it mattered." The discussion then shifted to family, and Mike spoke about his close relationship with the mother of his children and the bond he shares with his son, daughter, and grandchildren. Sandy nodded, "Family is everything." Mike's story added another layer to our gathering, emphasizing connection and responsibility.
Eventually, our conversation turned to the current political climate. Reflecting on the values Sandy had instilled in me long ago, we shared concerns about the future of democracy. Her classroom lessons seemed more relevant than ever as we discussed the importance of questioning what we see and hear, vetting sources, and seeking truth amid misinformation. "I'm a truth seeker," she said, her voice as steady as it was in my childhood. "One of my junior high teachers taught me that people often try to sway others to their point of view, but it's important to question everything. It's a lesson I've carried with me my entire life and one I've passed on to my students." Her words echoed the journey of critical thinking and self-discovery I chronicled in my book. Sandy's wisdom continues to guide me through today's complex world.
The flavors of our meal blended with our memories and insights. Reconnecting with Sandy deepened my understanding of the past and its enduring influence. Her wonderful wisdom and passion for truth-seeking continue to inspire me, just as they did when I was a student in her classroom.
As Sandy prepared to leave, the late afternoon sun cast a soft glow behind her, and I was reminded of the profound impact one person can have on another's life. Her lessons continue to shape me, both academically and personally. Our reunion wasn't just a nostalgic revisit of the past; it was a powerful reminder of education's enduring influence, of empathy, and of human connection.
As I walked away, a quiet gratitude settled over me. This was more than a nostalgic lunch; it was a reminder of the blessings found in reconnecting with those who shaped us. In Miss Veezi's presence, I felt the richness of shared stories and the lasting imprints teachers leave on our hearts. Extraordinary moments like these remind us of the light others bring into our lives—a light that never fades, carried with us as we move forward.