A treasured middle school teacher of mine retired into substituting for my small-town high school. I spent years with him, so when he passed this summer, I had a burst of nostalgia — going as far as making sure I visited his viewing.
That reminded of an old post I had here to remind myself of a few other particular kindnesses that teachers extended me back in high school. Looking back I was a challenging kid — one of those students who could be disruptive and disengaged. I needed quite a bit of help, so my academic performance ranged quite a bit depending on the teacher I had.
I remember the awe and openness that a civics teacher (Mr. Graham) extended to me and other students as we watch the proceedings of 9/11 on a TV he rolled into the classroom. He, along with a biology teacher I loved (Ms. Sheeley), went with an over-the-top alternative universe I created with a friend of mine in which we were suing each other — looking back, it was our own version of project-based learning, featuring an actual, god’s honest, after-school, mock trial.
I remember distinctly an English teacher (Ms. Heckman) who recruited me into yearbook club and told me once she wished I attended a bigger school that had a student newspaper. It wasn’t something I entirely understood, until I later found journalism via college paper.
I remember the history teacher (Mr. Rabbitt) who challenged my class essays more than other students, and in talking with my friends it gave me a quiet confidence.
I remember meeting with the principal (Mr. Dougherty) after I got in trouble for some dumb prank of mine. He greeted me warmer than I expected, and my clearest memory was that he asked me what the word “deciduous” — perhaps the first genuine memory I have of an adult assuming I might know something they didn’t.
I remember a math teacher (Mr. Yeager) who privately let me do an extra credit report on game theory, once he found out I had been reading about its origins — all while struggling with a C in calculus.
Thank you.