If you walk into the front entrance of the Gloversville High School, located in a small town in upstate New York, you will be greeted by a sizable front lobby painted with the theme of the school’s colors. At the far end of that lobby you will see a staircase, and if you climb that staircase up to the next floor you will find yourself in a single, long hallway lined on either side with similar classrooms. If you follow this hallway to the end, you will find the second to last classroom door on the left, and hanging on said door you will find one plain looking piece of paper and it will simply read in a basic, black print “It’s almost June.”

For all those seniors who have passed through the classroom of one Mr. Lambert, this served as a reminder that our future, in the form of graduation in June, was a reality that would be happening much sooner than we were probably anticipating at any given time. It was a reminder, of course, that we did have those pesky assignment deadlines to which we had to stay true (and any past student of his will tell you that there was no shortage of those) but also that a certain end was near, and that this rapidly approaching end was something both to anticipate and appreciate.

As he told us himself "When you reach a milestone, there is the time that was before and the time that will be after." It is funny now, thinking back on his words, to realize the variety of new meaning that they’ve taken on in the face of the infamous Mr. L’s retirement. I’m sure that many would also say that walking into Mr. Lambert’s classroom on that first September day of their senior year was a sort of milestone in itself; there had been a time before, and there was certainly quite a time to follow.

One thing that always struck me on a personal level about Mr. L was the fact that he didn’t seem to truly have a single hater. Of course, it’s not as if I’d never heard a foul word about the man spoken: he is a high school teacher, after all, and one with some pretty high standards for his students. It was, however, that I, nor anyone I spoke to, ever seemed able to name a student -- including those who’d never uttered a kind word about an educator their entire school career -- who truly disliked the guy, much less anyone who ever felt neglected or wronged by him. It is certainly not that any teacher ever intends or expects to be the favorite of every pupil who passes under their instruction and it is certainly a feat which I assume does not realistically exist. However, I will say that I may not ever “get over” the fact that this teacher was loved by so many simply because he loved so many.

It certainly takes a special kind of teacher to make so many high school kids love them some good ol’ Shakespeare, not to mention draw so many parallels between greek mythology and the real world of their own willing accord. It also takes a special kind of teacher to be cited by so many as someone who dramatically changed their lives in one respect or another. Mr. Lambert surely knows more about nearly every student in his high school at any given time than most can ever boast knowing in their entire careers -- we trusted him with our innermost thoughts in our personal journals, and he responded to that trust by holding himself in his classroom for hours and entire nights after many school days, reading and commenting until each journal had felt his loving gaze.

It takes a special kind of person to be a teacher, to dedicate so much for such little thanks, to give your best to so many. Perhaps it can often seem relatively thankless, but there is a special kind of thanks in order to Mr. L and to every educator like him. All those who fought, cried and bled for us, who taught us to have hope in ourselves and who inaugurated us all, in some way or another, into some special part of their hearts. Those who have enlightened and educated us and made us more equipped to handle this thing called life, who expand our minds. I was once told to “use my passion to change the world.” This thanks goes out to all those teachers like Mr. L; all those who used their own passion to change the world, one kid at a time.

A prior special education teacher, Shakespeare scholar, Joseph Campbell philosopher, single-man-cast Hamlet performer, mythology instructor, education advocate and messenger of the hero's journey, you, a one Mr. Lambert, have certainly used all that is within you to change the world. The hallways of Gloversville high school will not be the same without the echos of your voice booming out the lines of Shakespeare, nor without the light bleeding from beneath your classroom door at 11 p.m. on a Tuesday night. The world of education, of all those students who have and who might have been, will bow in bittersweet mourning, celebrating all you have done but saddened by your newfound absence. This is a simple tribute from us all: all those who once felt lost, all those who you made laugh, cry, hope and remember. It is almost time to say goodbye; it is almost June.

Now it is our turn to watch as you graduate. You would be remembered even if you’d been loved by only one of us, and you have been loved by so many more than one.