Ms. Merolyn Winters, an English Language Development (ELD) teacher at Woodhome Elementary/Middle School, will retire from service at Baltimore City Public Schools after the 2025-26 school year. To honor Ms. Winters' kindness, dedication, patience, and unwavering support, fellow ELD teacher Miriam Chepkemoi wrote a tribute letter describing her experience with Ms. Winters and how she has touched so many lives over the years. Read Ms. Chepkemoi's tribute.
Hello.
Jambo.
你好 (Nǐ hǎo).
Hola, ¿cómo estás?
Olá, tudo bem?
Bonjour.
No matter the language, gratitude sounds the same today. This is to celebrate a woman whose kindness crossed every barrier, whose patience spoke louder than words, and whose heart made every student and colleague feel seen, heard, and valued.
Ms. Winters, how shall I describe thee? It still feels like yesterday when I walked into the ELD department carrying nothing but hope, uncertainty, and a quiet prayer to survive in a country that already felt too fast, too unfamiliar, and too overwhelming. I remember feeling timid and lost, questioning myself daily, and wondering whether I would ever truly catch up. My accent certainly did not help. I used the word “pardon” more times than I can count, and I constantly reminded myself, “Miriam, you need to listen two times harder than an ordinary American”.
Now I look back and smile at those moments because, hidden inside the culture shock and confusion, I found something priceless. I found a friend. Not just any friend, but one of the most objective, supportive, understanding, and dependable souls I have ever met. Ms. Winters, you are proof that while many people are born with gifts, a rare few are born with a calling. Yours was extraordinary.
When there was trouble in a classroom, Ms. Winters answered the call. When a parent needed reassurance, guidance, or communication, Ms. Winters was there. When students needed compassion, structure, advocacy, patience, or understanding, somehow, Ms. Winters became the bridge. You were never “just” a paraeducator. You were a teacher. A guide. A mother figure. A confidant. A defender. A light in difficult moments. Figuratively speaking — our firefighter — always rushing toward the chaos while the rest of us were still trying to figure out where the smoke was coming from.
You carried grace and firmness in the same hand, and to this day, I still believe that is one of the rarest miracles in education: being gentle without losing strength. You excused my British pronunciations, smiled through my second-guessing, and taught me to stop doubting my own ability. You mentored me during my professional infancy in BCPSS, and for that, I will remain forever grateful.
Honestly, one question still lingers in my heart: Who will ever fill those shoes? The students cannot believe it is time for you to leave the academic stage, and truthfully, neither can we. To us, you were never simply “Ms. Winters.” You were our Ms. Winters.
Even in retirement, we already know we will still be calling you:
“There is fire on the mountain — what do we do?”
And somehow, we know you will still calmly have the answer.
I may still call to ask:
“How do I access Oracle again?”
“Why is this student struggling to retain instructions?”
And we would not even be surprised if one day we accidentally call you to help shop for goodies for our MLLs. That is the kind of imprint you leave on people. You do not simply work with them. You become part of their story.
Thank you for every lesson, every rescue mission, every moment of encouragement, every laugh, every correction, every act of kindness, and every ounce of belief you poured into all of us.
Go forth and keep thriving, Ms. Winters.
Retirement may close a chapter in the classroom, but the impact of your life will continue echoing through every student, every colleague, and every heart you touched.
