I Remember All the Great Teachers

I am reserved by nature. Growing up as the "quiet kid" in school, I'm fairly certain my favourite teachers do not know their impact on my life. But I remember all the great teachers.

There was Mr. D who taught Grade 6. His life was storied but somehow he found himself teaching 12-year-olds the importance of history, math, science, and so much more. He had a way of making everything interesting. He laughed when I answered one question wrong on every math test and was the first educator to tell me I could continue on to university. I wasn't thinking that far ahead. Someone seeing my potential was a much-needed confidence boost. Suddenly I started to imagine all I could accomplish in the future.

There was Mrs. F who taught Grade 10 and 11 English. She knew I could improve. After a few years of *expected* success, academic arrogance had settled into my psyche. She gave me the first grade I railed against. In my mind, it was as good as failing. Without knowing my past and assessing without the curse of a prevailing reputation, she marked me just as she thought worthy of my work. This was the first time I realized how intertwined to my grades had become my value. I challenged her and she challenged me right back. She always had an explanation for the way I could improve and guided me when I felt lost and confused. I am grateful she taught me two consecutive years; it was a reminder that growth takes time. She asked about my plans for the future. She noted how hard I worked. When I told her I didn't plan to pursue English, she didn't push but she reminded me it was an option. It's always nice to have options. She did all of this for me, and yet, the thing I remember most, was the day she apologized. I don't remember the reasoning, but I know there was a strip torn off the class. A warranted tirade from an exhausted teacher? Maybe. Regardless, the first thing she did the next day was apologize. I remember that and respect her all the more.

There was Mr. F who taught Grade 11 Chemistry. He gave me chances when I wanted to give up. I was warned about certain transitions before I was to make them. One such move was the shift from Grade 10 to 11. I was told it would be difficult. I fooled myself into believing it wouldn't be so. A few months in and I was burnt out, failing to complete my homework, and sleeping in class. Occasionally he would kick the leg of my desk to shake me out of my slumber, but I believe he knew I was trying. One day, long after trying to wrap my head around Avogadro's number, we sat for a test. I looked at the pages and felt more lost than ever before. I pulled as much memorized jargon from my brain as I could muster (in all likelihood, equal to the amount of hair I pulled from my scalp). Eventually, after staring at the blank portions for which I had no answers, I stood up to hand in the test. He looked at me and saw my distress, disdain, ambivalence, something...and he told me to sit back down. He helped by answering every question he could. Maybe each time I stood up and tried to give him my paper, he saw something new had clicked. Whatever the reasoning, I kept sitting back down. I kept trying. Three hours later, I submitted my test. I don't remember the grade I received, but I remember that day.

There was Mrs. P who taught Grade 11 World Religions and Grade 12 Philosophy. She opened my eyes and gave us a sense of community. She was always passionate about every lesson and conveyed that feeling to the entire class. Learning topics I had never been exposed to illustrated the importance of education. I wonder how many of us in her classroom looked like preschoolers, our minds being opened to realities for the first time. She let us speak our opinions and posed questions to challenge our expectations. Whether we sided with Socrates, Darwin, Maslow, or Hume didn't matter to her, so long as we thought and thought and kept on thinking. I am grateful to her for the excitement she imparted about simply spending time with peers in a classroom.

There was Mrs. D who taught Grade 11 and 12 Biology. She never let me off the hook. Pursuant to my plans for post-secondary biological sciences, these credits meant a great deal to me. I could see their practical and applicable value and couldn't wait to learn more about how we all tick. But, in my 'just play it safe to ensure you don't miss any credits necessary for your future' manner, I bit off more than I could chew. Too many science and math courses and not enough time for me, I handed in assignments late or a fraction as impressive as I intended them to be. She didn't budge when I tried to skirt class rules. I'll amend that. She helped when she could, but I certainly did not receive special treatment. This was not because she didn't care, but precisely because she did. I was subjected to the same lectures, assignments, and opportunities as each person sitting behind a rickety old desk. We were all equals and each of us had to rise to every occasion. I thank her for the lesson on fairness.

I'm finished with schooling now but one thing is for certain; I will always remember all the great teachers.