A few days back I posted how I don’t feel comfortable giving compliments unless they’re genuine. I think handing out compliments too liberally can run the risk of diluting the appreciation you’re trying to convey, so when I do it I like to be sure the significance isn’t lost. In that same post, I also wrote how in most cases I didn’t feel that Teacher Appreciation Day or Week was necessary, at least from my perspective, and I’ll spare you a review of the reasons why since you could look them up again easily enough if you’re interested. However, because today is Teacher Appreciation Day, today’s post will be my chance to show genuine appreciation for some of the teachers who had the greatest impact on me, either in my personal growth or in helping me develop my own ideas about what being a teacher would mean for when I found myself on the other side of the big desk.
*Of course this has to start with my parents -- My mother: Your idle suggestion that I spend the day in your classroom after I expressed some second thoughts about my English program changed the entire direction of my life. My father: You instilled in me the work ethic I’ve relied on to keep up with my own expectations throughout my career.
*My kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Johnson: You showed me that teachers were going to be people in my life who would care for me and be as nice to me as my mom and dad. And when it came to the day when I committed my greatest kindergarten transgression (grabbing the Star of the Day crown from my friend Kurt’s head because I had mistakenly been so sure it was supposed to be my day to wear it), you showed me that a gentle expression of disappointment from a teacher could have such a lasting impact that it could remain as a fresh memory nearly forty years later.
*My second grade teacher, who I will respectfully keep anonymous: You showed me how wrong it is for a teacher to be cold, dismissive, mean and detached when working with children. Thank you for providing me with an example of everything I should never do and several reference points about why I should never do them.
*My sixth grade teacher, Miss Fischer (I know you married decades ago, but I still think of you as Miss Fischer): I was in your classroom the moment I realized I was going to become a teacher someday. I remember walking in one morning to see the classroom had been redefined, with all of the desks, including yours, moved to new places, along with a multitude of saved up art projects covering the bulletin boards and new posters of encouragement decorating the walls. The change in atmosphere was noticed by everyone the moment we walked through the door and energized the beginning of our day. As I first walked in and looked around soaking in all of the newness, I clearly remember thinking, “This would be such a cool thing to do when I grow up.”
*Mr. Wollenberg, my 7th grade math teacher: You showed me that when a student takes apart a pen to occupy his hyperactive little mind and the spring from that pen accidentally shoots the whole assembly off his desk and onto the floor right between your feet, the teacher only needs to pick it up and quietly set it back on the student’s desk with only a brief look of disapproval to make an incredibly effective point.
*Mrs. Gerlach, my 8th grade health teacher: You showed me that sometimes when a trusted student swears up and down that he really did hand in the five assignments you have marked as late, it can be okay to give that student the benefit of the doubt and admit you might have made the mistake.
*Mr. Olson, my 9th grade English teacher: You showed me that if a student turns in a writing assignment that blows you away, you tell that kid's parents at conferences that it was the first A+ you ever felt compelled to give. This validates that student with a sense of pride in knowing that a valued teacher believes he’s working on a different level from everyone else in class, and also raises his level of concern once he pieces together that you expect a hell of a lot more from him than you do from the others.
*Mr. Pearson, my band director in 5th, 6th, 10th, 11th, and 12th grades: You wouldn’t take no for an answer when I was about to make one of the biggest mistakes of my time as a student, and consequently defined high school for me as something infinitely better than it would have been otherwise.
*Mr. Varty, my 10th grade geometry teacher: I remember on the first day of school you made a point of asking that if any of us grew up to become math teachers you’d like to hear about it someday. Well, here I am. I’ve kind of accidentally stumbled into whatever degree of a math teacher I am now, but for the most part that’s what I am. And who knows what other changes the next few weeks might bring.
*Mrs. Larson, my 11th grade English teacher: You were the first person outside of my family I trusted enough to read something I wrote just because I thought of a story I wanted to tell, and you had the wisdom to hold back from telling me how much it sucked. Even after that you still agreed to read the next one, and then went on and read it aloud to all of your other classes without my knowing you were doing it, because it didn’t suck.
*Mr. Shogren, my 11th grade Humanities teacher: You gave me my first true appreciation for how much about sociology and history and culture and the world in general there was for me to learn, even if I was too much of a teenager to fully appreciate it at the time.
*Dr. Magnus, my college chemistry and physics professor: You showed me that even when a teacher has an intellectual capacity that absolutely towers over the students, he can still be accessible and friendly. You took subjects that bored me to sleep in high school and made them live.
Dr. Crow, my creative writing professor: For those five words that still echo at me from 1989: “You need to keep writing.”
Dr. Davis, the last professor I had in the education department before I left to student teach: You saw confidence in me when most others in the same position would have dismissed it as equal parts blind arrogance and raging ignorance. You were a hard case and you knew it, and impressing you was a triumph.
(And I have to give one more nod to Miss Fischer for letting me off the hook after the “St. George and the Dragon” incident. I’ve posted about that story already, but if you didn’t catch it the first time you can read it if you click HERE.)
