Let’s just cut to the chase here: I know I am a handful to teach. I am stubborn, lazy, and I talk entirely too much during class. I have not always been good with criticism, actually, it’s still a work in progress. My hand writing is that of a five-year-old, it always has been, and I have given up thinking that any amount of practice and writing will ever change that. My brain shuts down when anyone talks to me about math. And you can just forget me absorbing any knowledge or putting forth any effort between March and June, because I get spring fever and forget how to concentrate.
All that being said, some of the teachers I have encountered in my life have still taken one look at me and said, “Challenge accepted.” You may know who you are, and you may be completely oblivious to the impact you had on my life. You may not even remember my name or that you even taught me at all, but I remember you.
In eighth grade, I submitted a short story type essay to my English teacher at the time. I was just writing about things I enjoyed writing about. It never crossed my mind to think that someone else may enjoy reading what I had to say. But you did, oh Eighth Grade English Teacher of Mine. I don’t remember exactly what you said, but I do remember that you left a little note on my paper praising me for my essay. It was the first time in my life that I ever felt like I might be good at something.
In tenth grade, my English teacher was famous for being harsh. I was absolutely terrified to take her class. However, it didn’t take me long to realize that her harshness was what I loved about her. She was passionate about teaching, and she was passionate about her students. It was obvious to me that she just really wanted us to love the English language in the same manner that she did. I thrived in her class. It was hard, challenging work, but that’s what I loved about it. To this day, I still hear people talk about how awful it was to write that one big research paper in her class, and I just want to scream, “Yeah, but I learned so much from it!” The things that woman taught me are things I still use in my writing every single day. I am grateful for the harsh, passionate teacher.
Eleventh grade was my first chemistry class. Chemistry was another class I was afraid of. It combined math and science, my two worst subjects. However, it turns out that chemistry came surprisingly easy to me, and I think that was all because of the lady who was teaching it. She explained things so well that it made chemistry seem downright simple for me. She was also one of those teachers who was very laid back and easy to talk to. I felt comfortable asking questions when I didn’t understand. This particular woman made an effort to be more than just a teacher, she was also a friend, and that made a world of difference for me.
Fast forward to college, I was originally going to be a court reporter. Even though that particular dream never came to pass, the things I learned during that season of my life will be with me forever. All of the instructors in that program were more than harsh. They were very strict about homework and deadlines. At the time, I felt like it was too much, but it taught me so much. Court reporting school is what made me into the grammar nazi I am today. It taught me to strive for absolute perfection in my work. It made me tough in ways I can’t even begin to explain. Some days I absolutely hated those instructors, but looking back, I realize that they taught me some of the hardest lessons in life.
So here’s to you teachers out there who are still fighting the good fight and trying to make a difference. Your efforts, passion, and persistence do not go unnoticed. Thank you for the inspiration.
