Teachers

As the school year winds down again I think about my daughter and her teacher, and how much she will miss her dear teacher. Last year on the last day of school I picked my kiddo up and she was in tears. All of the kids were. They were a family you see, and they were being split up. For two years the kids had the exact same classmates and the same teacher. My daughter still talks about how much she misses Mrs B.

I expect some tears again this year, but not so bad. The kiddo actually had two teachers this year, so I don't know if the attachment is quite so strong. We shall see.

Anyway. It's made me a bit reflective on my old teachers, teachers who meant a lot to me or just were memorable.

There's Mrs. Mock, who was probably a nice lady, but we got off on a bad foot in third grade and never quite recovered. My fourth grade teacher was nice enough, but I've blocked a lot of that year out as my dad had recently died and it wasn't such a hot year.

Then there was Mrs. Carter in 5th grade. From her I gained a love of all things piggy. Mrs. C collected pigs and her classroom was full of them. But what made every kid want her for their teacher was that every one of her 5th grade classes had a class piglet. Yep, we had an orphan piglet that we fed and cleaned and played with all year long 'til it was strong enough to go back to the farm it was born on. To heck with hamsters and guinea pigs lol.

In 6th grade it was Mrs. Rauschenburger. She was the teacher who finally realized just how deep my love of reading was and she fostered it, recommending books and allowing me to stay in from recess and read.

After that my memory gets hazy. Starting with high school, I switched schools three times in 4 years. And you spend less time with each teacher, so while I had favorites each year they were never really special.

There was the junior high teacher who had dated my sister in high school. Weirdness.

And the first English teacher I ever had who didn't consider me his pet and yelled at me for talking all the time, lol.

And the algebra teacher who told everyone the first day of class that there was no such thing as a stupid question. Then several days later when I asked him to repeat something he gave me a death stare and told me, "I just went over that, I will not repeat myself, again!" I dropped that class that day.

The next teacher I had that made an impact on me was a college prof. He was passionate about his subject and a tough teacher. You either loved him or hated him. I loved him, his passion for the field, his ability to make us all think. The first class I had him for he terrified me at first. By the end of the semester I was hooked. I scheduled myself deliberately for his classes for the next year and a half and I did well. If I may pat myself on the back, I think he liked me as well. I was the first and only student of his to get a 100% on one of his exams and he appreciated that.

After that semester we all went off for summer break. Come fall I entered a class with follow journalism students and one of them asked if I'd heard the news. My favorite teacher in whole university had had a heart attack over the summer and died.

I never had another professor I liked quite so well. My enthusiasm for the subject waned until I was just going through the motions, ready to graduate and be done with school. By the time I walked across the stage at graduation I knew I'd likely never work in my field. (There were several other reasons for that, not just his death, but that certainly sparked the malaise that filled me back then).

I hope that my daughter is lucky enough to find some teachers who mean as much to her as some of my old teachers meant to me then, and that as she grows up she will think back kindly on some of them and smile.