If I had to get up at the crack of dawn every day, drive through traffic, and deal with a bunch of loud, hyper children or moody, sarcastic teenagers, I'd buy a plane ticket, fly away, and never come back. Luckily, I'm not a teacher. My mom is though. So are most of the adults that made the biggest differences in my life. Why? Two reasons. One: teachers are some of the most mentally tough, caring, amazing people to walk the planet. And two: I got pretty lucky in that I got some pretty kick-ass teachers.
I went to the same elementary school that my mother taught at. I remember being a lowly third-grader, sitting in her classroom, and constantly hearing her own fourth-grade students telling her how much they loved her. I heard the same thing all six years I was there. From her students, past and current, I'd always been told how my mom had been their favorite teacher. I never really noticed what my mom did as a teacher or truly appreciated it, until I was a high school and college student and would visit her at work or help her out in her classroom.
It's in the way she is patient with her students when they're confused or being difficult. It's in the way she is always coming up with new ideas to make her lessons more effective or fun. It's in the way she talks to her students, the way she stays up all night grading papers, and in the way she makes sure that each of her kids is taken care of.
There was one day, I don't remember when, that my mom received an email from one of her first ever students. This girl was in my mom's fourth-grade class long before I was even born. She told my mom that she had remembered her all the years after fourth grade, and my mom was the reason that the girl had become a teacher. It moved my mother beyond words, and I remember realizing that things like that make her often-stressful, always-tiring job worthwhile.
My own teachers affected me in the same way that my mom did, to the hundreds of students she has taught. There was my first preschool teacher, who comforted me when I cried for my mom all day. She made the second day of class and every day after better, because she cared. There was my fourth grade teacher, who worked with my mom for years and who I shared a birthday with. I still try and keep in touch with her, because she was one of the warmest, most caring women I've ever known.
Most important of all, however, were my 11 grade history and English teachers. My history teacher is one of the smartest and most interesting men I've known. He knows how to teach. In fact, he does the impossible: he keeps high school juniors interested in history. He gave us students advice when we needed it, he welcomed us into his classroom no matter what time of the day it was, and was real with us about the issues in life that are truly important.
He has also watched over and mentored my brother since I graduated, and for that I will be forever grateful. My English teacher brought out the best in me. She was always there for me, and urged me to be a better student, friend, and person. She made me promise to fulfill my dream of becoming an author. Words can't describe what she did for me in high school. To these two teachers, (you know who you are), if you read this, thank you.
Teachers go through more bull than most people, and for not much compensation. Why do they do it? Because they care. At least, the good ones do. These teachers, the ones that make differences, do it not for the money or anything else. They teach to make a difference in children's lives. So, to those teachers, here's to you. Thank you.
