The man in the Central Maine Power truck parked next to my car in the lot rolled down his window. After i rolled down mine, he asked, “Are you Vicki Sullivan?”

I wondered what possible transgression I might have committed.

“I was one of your students,” he continued.

He said his name, Dan, and that he was in my English Comp class about 20 years ago.

I recognized his name but couldn’t quite picture the younger version of him until I was leaving the parking lot. Then suddenly I placed and fondly remembered that nice, red-haired young man majoring in Electrical.

This is usually how it goes: “Did you used to be a teacher?” “I think I know you” “Were you Miss Sullivan?” “You were my teacher” and “Did you used to teach high school?”

After 42 years in the classroom, I see my former students everywhere. For example, there is Caleb, the police officer; Lucas, the firefighter; Katerina, the nurse; Sean and Curtis, the soccer coaches.

Then there is another question: “Are you still teaching?”

I choke on my answer; then it comes out, “Not now; I think I’m done.” I say “think” because although I finished teaching over a year ago, I’m still not sure that I’m really done.

And then I remember the stress from the endless papers and a few “little stinkers,” as my Aunt Teresa would have called them, and feel I have made the right decision.

I want to be able to look back fondly on those years of my career. In my classes among my students have been friends’ kids, married couples, identical twins, siblings, dorm roommates and even a former high school classmate. For the past few years in my Speech classes, many of my students were from other countries and shared their often-sad stories in their speeches. They have touched my heart.

I remember the fun times I had teaching. There was the night a student showed up for class with her new baby, Wyatt, a week after she had delivered him. There were romances between classmates, among them Dan and Amy, who later got married.

I also recall the sadness of seeing Rick Fenderson’s empty seat in my classroom at Edward Little after he drowned.

My students have taught me as I was teaching them – about their music, technology, lifestyles, and even Tinder. So many have shown me their courage, their wisdom, their humor, their perseverance – and a few, their attitude!

Lately when a new acquaintance asks me what I do, I still can’t bring myself to say, “I used to be a teacher.”

Auditing classes at the University of Southern Maine still brings me to the classroom. Although now a student, I occasionally find myself playing mother hen and using my teacher voice to my four young friends I sit with in my film class. They are the ages my younger students were.

But even if I am indeed truly finished being a teacher – or not – my identity still remains “Miss Sullivan.”