As Thanksgiving break approaches, my mind is overwhelmed with thoughts of delicious food, the comfort of my full-size bed, time with my hometown best friends and family traditions. However, unlike many college students, I am also eager to visit to my high school. No, I’m not one of those kids who wants to relive the days of lockers, cafeteria food, and AP classes. I love my college life -- the independence, the social atmosphere and academic opportunities. That being said, I do want to take the time to go back to visit the teachers who supported me through high school and helped me develop into the person I am today.
Compared to some of my college peers, I had an extraordinary high school experience. I didn’t go to a fancy private school with amazing athletic facilities or state-of-the-art science labs. However, I was incredibly fortunate to have teachers who truly cared about my education. It’s no secret that high school teacher’s don’t have the most glamorous job. More often than not, they have to work with disrespectful, ungrateful, hormonal teenagers who would much rather be watching Netflix than learning about the Ottoman Empire. Despite this, my teachers arrived early and stayed late to help me understand a difficult concept or revise an essay. They introduced me to new study skills. And perhaps most importantly, they taught me to think critically and not just regurgitate information -- they wanted me to understand the “how” and “why.” However, my teachers taught me much more than calculus and English; they gave me advice on life, taught me how to be a better person and supported me through thick and thin.
I’ll never forget the day I walked into Mr. Jochmans’ room and was greeted with a firm handshake and a huge smile. I was a little intimidated by the class. The seniors warned me that physics was “impossible," but, with such a great teacher, could the class really be that hard? A few weeks later, we received the grades on our first quiz. I saw a 4 out 6 at the top of the page in red Sharpie, and suddenly felt numb. When I went to talk to Mr. Jochmans the next day, I began to tear up. He looked at me in the eye and said, “Katie, if you don’t give up on me, I won’t give up on you. We will work together, and you will get it.” I knew at that point that I would learn a lot more in this class than physics. I learned how to deal with failure and how to push myself to new limits.
Along the way, Mr. Jochmans became much more than a teacher. He was the guy who let me and my friends crash in his room for lunch when we didn’t want to eat in the cafeteria, he told us stories of his college days, he listened to our complaints about life, and then promptly told us to cut the crap when we became a little too dramatic. When I went back to visit last year, I was welcomed back with his usual big bear hug. He invited my friends and me to dinner at Chipotle, that night, so that we could discuss the details of our college lives. Mr. Jochmans is the kind of teacher who I will still talk to in 10 years because without him, I would be a very different person. He represents the person I want to become -- somebody who dedicates their life to helping others become a better version of themselves.
Then there’s Mr. Olsen, my third grandfather and the man who taught me to think chemistry was cool. While I certainly learned a great deal of chemistry that year, my fondest memories are blowing up gummy bears, lighting balloons on fire before Christmas break and making ice cream during the last week of school. And although he retired after my junior year, I still managed to see him at least once a week. He would drive an hour down from Pennsylvania just to watch our field hockey games or run a Key Club Meeting. Even when he wasn’t visiting, he was always keeping tabs on our lives via Facebook. He’ll never let me get away with too much socializing before a stern reminder to keep studying Orgo, and I am constantly reminded to “stay away from boys.”
It has been a year and a half since high school, and I often find that most of it is a blur. However, I remember the feeling that I had when Mr. Kimball told me that he loved my college essay. I’ll never forget when Mr. D. made me laugh about getting a C on a calc test because I didn’t know my left and right. I still smile when I think about my conversations with Mr. Rhen on the bus during band trips and I will always cherish my “Brunch of Champions” certificate from Mr. Jochmans. Although I have been fortunate to meet some incredible professors at William and Mary, I am eternally grateful to have been taught by such passionate and supportive high school teachers. Without their dedication, I would not have been prepared for college nor life. They built the foundations for me to pursue my academic goals, and gave me the confidence to take on life’s challenges.
To my high school teachers: Thank you for putting up with an ever-changing curriculum, low salaries and annoying teenagers because -- believe it or not -- you do make a difference. I can’t promise to remember derivatives, kinematic equations or Shakespeare’s sonnets, but I will never forget how you made me feel.
