When A Teacher Dies

 An old high school friend of mine sent a note out this week about a favorite high school teacher’s death. As I started down memory lane and began reflecting on what it was that made this particular teacher so loved by so many, I was struck by what I recalled so clearly: his own love of learning, and the delight and joy he seemed to find in teaching and just being with his students.  

I would never want to go back and re-live my high school days, as I remember them as being a rollercoaster of emotions: full of tons of fun and laughter with friends, along with plenty of cringe-worthy behavior that was at times wildly out of control and full of my own self-doubt. As a high school student, I moved through awkward phases of pimples, trying to find a place to fit in with friends, getting a driver's license (after puking twice before my road test), and riding a wave of mood swings and general adolescent angst. 

Through it all, a few beloved high school teachers were a relaxed, calm, and quiet presence. My favorite teachers all seemed perfectly at home with my weirdness and attention seeking behavior. Looking back, some memories make me uncomfortable as I know I was occasionally rude, loud, and at times just generally a pain in the ass during those years. Somehow, I always knew certain teachers had high standards related to academic work, but they also seemed to care about me with a soft grace, even when I was not always at my best. 

I’m guessing that most people can recall one or two favorite teachers from their youth. Teachers who taught us both important academic lessons alongside lessons about how to be good humans. Being out of the high school classroom now for more years than I care to admit, I don’t remember much algebra or mythology or the grades I received. But I do remember how certain teachers made me feel. They were able to inspire, challenge, and accept me without judgment. Maybe they knew on some level how much self-doubt was already there inside me and recognized that even a high achieving kid needed some quiet acceptance and encouragement that would eventually help me settle down and thrive. 

I did send a note to Mr. Melchoir (the favorite teacher who passed this week) a few years back, and I know some of my classmates visited and kept in touch with him. He knew he was loved and that his work had an impact. I hope he wasn’t the exception to the rule, and that other teachers out there have heard words of thanks and praise from former students.  

Education is a tough business to be in these days. What if the takeaway at the end of another school year is this simple message: that we always have the choice to share our thanks and take a moment to appreciate what our teachers have meant to us.  

Can you imagine the wave of goodwill that would occur if we all took 5 minutes this week to send a text, a card, or called one of our former teachers simply to tell them thank you?  

Let’s make it our homework assignment this week. Say thank you to your kid’s teacher on the last day of school. Tell your neighbor who is a schoolteacher that you appreciate their efforts. Find a former teacher of yours and share a simple ‘thank you for being my teacher’ or whatever words of appreciation feel most appropriate. 

Finally, the next time you hear someone complaining about or disparaging the work of teachers, shake your head, softly disagree, and tell them about your favorite teacher: who likely saved you when you felt lost, and made a true difference in your life.