So Long, Farewell

It happened again. Someone died.

About a week ago my wife linked me to a social media page. The page was a link for a former High School teacher of mine. It struck me odd that he had passed away. He shouldn’t have gotten older. He wasn’t that old the last time I saw him. That was almost 30 years ago.

Isn’t it funny how quickly time passes? It passes around us. For us. With us. Without us. Beside us. How rude of it to not even ask. Right? Right. It’s like when you look at a photograph, then you see the person and it’s like, “What? How long’s it been?” My wife gets to remind me that “(insert said event here) happened (insert a time that was way too long ago here).” more and more these days. Seriously.

I wasn’t able to attend the funeral, but I would like to have. It’s not because he and I were close. No. It was because he made an impact on me. He and his wife. They were both my favorite High School teachers. They were both amazing people. The more I thought about the loss of the one, the more I thought about the handful of teachers that really impacted me. The ones that made me feel like I was not just another number. The ones that saw me for me. If you are fortunate to know a teacher like that, that’s awesome.

The first one was my sixth-grade teacher. I’ve mentioned her a few times before. She had short, golden, curly hair and a smile that illuminated the room. She was the kind of lady a little boy could get a crush on. I didn’t, but I can see why one would. She tolerated my nonsense and helped me do well. She would get mad at my shenanigans—which she was right to—but never unfairly punished me. Now, as an adult, knowing that the youthful me was also working in the autism spectrum, she was even more impressive.

As a paraprofessional, sometimes special needs children can be taxing. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. There are days when it can be a lot to handle. And in my ‘80s youth when it was managed by… well, let’s just say it was handled differently than it is today, that teacher was heavenly. She allowed me to be me, but there was also a line I was not allowed to cross and she still had expectations for me. She is unforgettable.

Once, after a week of just parenting my own children, I had the idea of trying to find this teacher and let her know how much she meant to me. Fortune was on my side. I called the school—in a different state—and the staff told me that she was now a principal. But, had retired. However, she was subbing as a principal (apparently that’s a thing) at a different school and gave me the number. I called. I let her know how often I would cite her to my children and students as probably the most influential teacher I ever had. How much she had done for us. I felt like she needed to know how she helped shape me.

It was a good call.

The more I thought about my influential teachers this last week, I realized that the next couple were just that: A couple. In High School. They didn’t start as a couple, but by my senior year, they were married. The husband was the one who passed away. I only had him once. It was enough. He allowed me to ask bizarre questions and he never laughed at my ideas. He allowed the ridiculous notions to flow forward and unabated. He let me interfere with his personal lunchtime or after-school time. He let me in. He let me think. He showed me how to reason and process. It was just a basic science class. But it was the best science class.

His wife was my psychology teacher. And there was another one that I cannot recall the name of the class, I just remember that I took it because it was an elective and she was the teacher. She was good at her job. She tolerated a lot of ‘stupid’. And, if you are a teacher, you know what I’m talking about. High School children can bring a lot of idiocracy to the table when they want to. She sifted through it and made her lessons the focus of the class. She pushed through the distractions and nonsense and helped us to learn. She too, helped me to reason and process.

I found that when I just listened to what she had to say, thought about it for a moment, and then applied it, it worked. Go figure? She was good and welcoming to those who were in need of extra guidance. I never felt like I was judged incorrectly. She had a way of looking at you as if she was assessing you. Not in a negative way, but in a way that was accurate. So when she would ask things like, “Is this your best work?” It wasn’t on the same scale that everyone else was on. It was on your personal scale. A more accurate metric.

Such a good teacher.

In college, I found a few more. One was a philosophy professor. They’re dangerous. Making you think thoughts and conder options. The worst (in case you missed it, there was some sarcasm in there). He allowed you to argue with him. Not the argument that most people think of where you fight another person verbally. An actual argument, with thoughts and ideas supported with facts and information. It was very helpful training for my future in education with middle school peoples.

The other was the guy who got me started teaching college. He guided me through the last half of my graphic design degree. Offered me a job as an adjunct. Was a decent human being. He showed me how to mentor a student—even if he didn’t know he was doing it at the time.

The third… As I walked down the flight of stairs at the end of my class on Friday, knowing full well that the funeral of one of my favorite teachers had taken place that day, I thought of the third. I have thought about him often. He is sick. Some things modern medicine just can’t take care of. I think about him a lot because I miss him. He was one of those people who politely taught me through personal engagement and natural exuberance. It was hard to not get infected by his enthusiasm for art.

I learned all about traditional printmaking from him. I discovered that I like to paint and that out of everybody he knew, I took the longest to paint a background black. To be fair, It took me over an hour. So…

There were days when the ends of the classes I taught would allow me the privilege of encountering him on his way out of the building. He would always smile, say a kind ‘hello’, and then follow it up with an old advertising slogan that would make me think of the 1984 Ghostbusters movie (that I love so very much), “It’s Miller time.” It always made me chuckle. And, on this last Friday, after the funeral of a great man, I really could have used that encounter.

I would like to think that God has blessed me in my endeavors to be a good teacher. It feels that way often enough. I do know that these few, fine instructors have been a great impact on how I manage my students, my classrooms, my style of instruction, and my purpose. I would like to think that I am making a difference in the lives of my students. Regardless of whatever else may be true, I can say this: If I have half the impact on my students that any of these people did on me, then I would be a blessed individual.

I wish time would slow down, just a little bit. Just a little.

It happened again. Someone died.