I always knew growing up that I didn’t want to be a teacher. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be but I knew it wasn’t that. I knew I couldn’t handle kids. Especially kids like me. My parent teacher conferences always went something like, “Well, Mr. and Mrs. McKell. Russ is a smart kid, but I just can’t keep him in his seat and from talking to the other kids. I’m sure he’d be doing better with his assignments if he would just stop the socializing.” I believe the word is incorrigible. And the fact is I never really appreciated my teachers or what they did for me. I never really got it. What they put up with. I mean, I had an idea. It was enough to keep me from ever wanting to put myself in such a situation but I never really got it. Plus I never really appreciated not only what they put up with, but while putting up with me, what they instilled in me. What they actually taught me. Out of so many teachers how they all, despite by “socializing” managed to teach me something. And now, because life is like that, and I believe God has a sense of humor, I am a teacher myself. Now I know what my teachers put up with and I just wanted to take a minute and say thank you.
I remember being in third grade. Mrs. Fox was my teacher. I don’t remember what started it; what I said, or what I did to make her as angry as she was. I don’t remember anything that she said up until the moment we got into the hall. She had dragged me there – maybe by my arm, or shirt or ear. Not really sure. But I remember her face. She was bent in half, down to my level, with her face right up against my face. She was blustery and red, her left hand was on her hip, and her right index finger was alternating from straight in the air to directly in my face. Her knuckles were white with exertion. I’m sure my face was one of fear and trepidation. Because despite being an avid talker I hated being in trouble. I hated being lectured. So here I was, in the third grade hallway, Mrs. Fox angrily pointing her finger at me, face a deep red, spittle forming at the corners of her mouth. What she said was classic.
In a harsh whisper and through gritted teeth, she said, “I DON’T GET PAID ENOUGH…” but she never made it to the rest of her sentence.
I’m sure my face went from fear and anxiety to confusion and wonder. Because I blurted out, free of any mental editing, what immediately came to my mind, “You get paid!?”
How lucky! Teachers get paid! Neat. I thought. That’s amazing really. I don’t remember what she said to me after that. I don’t remember how I got safely back into the classroom, or home for that matter. I don’t know how Mrs. Fox calmed her self down or how she kept from wrapping her hands around my sweet little third grader neck and choking the life out of me. But I would like to begin this list of thank you’s by just saying to Mrs. Fox, wherever she is, “Thank you. Thank you for not killing me.”
As I look back over my education there are certainly folks who stand out – these are just a few. Thank you to my sixth grade teacher Ms. Emil for not just teaching me the parts of speech, which I remember to this day, but that being a gentleman was the most important thing a boy could be. Thank you to Ms. Peck who allows me to watch the screen as I type and not my hands. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said a silent thank you to her for the hours she took with me, hands covered by a piece of paper, as I typed away without looking. An invaluable skill. Thank you to Mr. Mortensen, my junior high choir teacher, who taught me to be confident and proud of my ability to perform. Who taught me to stand in front of a crowd and sing, head held high. Thank you to Ms. Johnson, my high school choir teacher, who taught me to love my voice, and how to sit and breath while listening to the others around me while harmonizing with what they sung. But most importantly how to truly love music. Thank you to Ms. Comer who taught me to have a love and understanding of the law and civic duty. Even today I remember the things she taught me and I still have the projects she assigned – she expanded my mind and vocabulary. Thank you to Mr. Knight who taught me to love history – I now follow in his impossible footsteps. Thank you to Mr. Wagstaff who instilled in me the love of learning about how the mind works; he became my mentor as I started to teach and ended up being my lifelong friend. Thank you to Ms. Beckstrand who, because of an experiment she did in class, changed the course of my life. I teach sociology with vigor and excitement today because of her and I tell her story every semester. She stands at one of the most incredible crossroads of my life and doesn’t even know it. And thank you to Ms. Peterson, who took in a group of geeky kids and encouraged them to write. She wouldn’t accept mediocre assignments and who demanded more of us than we thought capable of giving. I am still writing because of her.
I’m sure there are more. The fact is teacher’s effect who we become. Their impact on us can’t really be measured. We take them for granted and we shouldn’t. People who have substituted a classroom or even taught a night course or Sunday school class can’t really understand what it’s like to teach a group of kids. Every day. Even as a teacher I forget to drop a note to my kids teachers. Not just for specific things but just because of what they do. Just to say thanks for the time they take, that, and for allowing my kids to live. Because, even now, our parent teacher conferences go something like, “Mr. and Mrs McKell I sure love your daughter. And she is so smart. I just wish I could get her to sit down and not socialize so much.” The age old curse of the parent has taken effect. I have kids just like me.
So for this year, for my youngest daughter, Rebekah, to all her teachers I say thank you. Thank you to Mr. Lemon for his website and email reminders. They were invaluable to keep us on track. Thank you to Mr. Thornton who taught her to stand and let her voice ring out. She is much more confident because of you. But more importantly, she will never stop singing. Also to Ms. Hansen, her drama teacher, for giving her focus and confidence and a love for the theater. Junior High is never easy for a girl, but because of all of you, Rebekah became more excited, instead of less excited; she became more outgoing, rather than less outgoing. Thank you to all of you, not just the ones I mentioned, but to all of her teachers. You can never know what you’ve done for my daughter. But I want you to know that we appreciate it.
And for my oldest daughter, Aubrielle, to all her teachers I say thank you. Thank you to Ms. Comer-Miller for instilling in her the same love of the law that she instilled in me. Even after all these years your love for your subject shines and warms students to it. Thank you to Ms. Gibbons, her English teacher, for sparking in her a real love for learning in general, for showing her that English doesn’t have to be drudgery but can be inspirational. Thank you to Ms. Warby, a wonder of inspiration and encouragement. Who taught my daughter to love music as much as she loves life. Who took several hundred students to another state and lived to tell the tale. We see what you do Ms. Warby and we love you for it. Thank you to Ms. Ormond who instilled in Aubrielle not just a love of science but who broke the stereotype of cheerleaders. Thank you to all of you. This year was emotional and a bit trying at times. But because of your understanding and sensitivity, she made it through, not as the girl who walked into your school, but as a young woman who will enter life. She is a better person because of you all.
My family moved when I was in first grade. It was traumatic for me. But more importantly it was traumatic for my mom – just a girl in her early twenties who was still trying to figure out what it meant to be a good mom. I would beg her not to go to this new school. I would call her from school, crying and begging her to come home. But through it all my mom gained strength from a seasoned first grade teacher – Ms. Pulley. She loved me. She loved me enough to keep me in class, to encourage my mom to not allow me to go home. School was valuable and she was there to teach me. And day by day, week by week, I did make new friends. I did learn to love my new school and home. I learned how to get along with the other kids. And I did that all because of Mr. Pulley. She was my own personal miracle worker.
I saw her a few years ago and I thought how much I owed her. I watched her, now quite old, shuffling through the store. I stood there with my own wife and kids at my side, thinking about all those times, standing next to her, sobbing, wishing to go home, and her gently telling me and my mom, that staying at school was the best thing. I thought about how much I owed her as I watched her slowly move away down the isle. The strength she had given me. And I have to tell you, I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed for the kind of kid I was. For the things I put her through. I didn’t think she would want to remember me. And so I didn’t say anything. I let her go. She never knew what became of me, or how I overcame my fear of newness and change. How now I embrace it, partly because of her. I wish I had said something.
And I think that is most of us. We want to say to our teachers, both past and present. Those who have taught us and those who now teach our children – Thank You. But time, or circumstance, or opportunity, stand in our way. And those who have had the most effect on us as kids, and on our own kids, go about doing their work silently. On this, the last day of school, before summer starts, please embrace the silence that you are now enjoying. Think of your child, the one you sent to school today, the one that you entrusted to another adult. Think of all their peculiarities, unique traits, faults and qualities. Then multiply them. Multiply your child by twenty, or thirty, or in some cases, forty. Imagine having that many of your kid in one room. Imagine planning to keep their attention, interest them, but most importantly to teach them a subject. Not just for today. But for 180 days. That’s what teachers do.
I regret every day not catching up to that little old lady, Ms. Pulley, and introducing her to my children and telling her thank you for what she did for me and my mom. I wish that I had taken the time to tell her thank you for everything. And even today I fail to aptly communicate my own appreciation for my kids teachers. I still fall short – too wrapped up in my own job to remember to thank someone for doing theirs. But today is different. Today, before I have to spend every waking minute with my kids over the summer, I want to say thank you. Not just to their teachers, but to mine. You made us who we are. And for that, there are no words, except Thank You.
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