To the teachers who’ve quit, and the teachers who’ve stayed.

We all know that teachers are underappreciated. Undervalued, underpaid, underfunded. Under an immense responsibility that has been placed on their shoulders. Like Sisyphus, teachers roll the boulder of education towards an unreachable peak, over an increasingly treacherous terrain. Every spring, like clockwork, we thank them for one week and move on. Yet every fall they return to their classrooms, ready for another 180 school days of being undervalued, underpaid, underfunded. Why?

If you ask anyone, they can probably tell you about that one teacher. The one they remember, who made learning fun, who was compassionate, who went above and beyond, or who was so laid back. Everyone has at that one teacher.

For me, that one teacher was Mr. Garcia, my preschool teacher. Of course, since I was so young, I don’t remember much about his class. I do remember that he taught in the same classroom for so many years that he taught me, my brother, AND my sister. With the elementary, middle, and high school all in close proximity to one another, I was sometimes tasked with the responsibility of collecting my younger siblings on my way home. My sister, 10 years younger than me, had been in Mr. Garcia’s class for a couple of months when I arrived one day to pick her up. Before I could say a word, I saw Mr. Garcia’s instantaneous recognition of his former student as he smiled and said my name. I felt shocked and honored to be remembered. I felt seen.

That one teacher was also Mrs. Morales, my third grade teacher. She was incredibly kind, and always helped me find new books to read. In my fourth grade year she moved to another state, but she stayed in contact with our school through a pen pal program she established with her former coworkers. I realize now, as an adult, that she was likely friends with my fourth grade teacher which is why such a thing would have been possible. However, at the time, it felt cool to write letters and have someone write back. When Mrs. Morales replied to my letters, she often sent books or school supplies. She also seemed genuinely interested in how her pen pals were doing. The letters abruptly ended when we learned that Mrs. Morales was sick; there was a ceremony honoring her in our cafeteria when she died. Our entire class mourned. I mourned. When I read her replies to my letters, I felt heard.

That one teacher was also, without a doubt, Mr. Lee. In my sophomore year of high school, Mr. Lee assigned an English project requiring students to select a cause and take action. I fundraised and donated money to a shelter for abused women and children. In my junior year, Mr. Lee took over the school newspaper and recruited me for layout editing. By the end of the year, I was writing for the Op-Ed section and had gained immense confidence in my writing and artistic abilities. In my senior year, Mr. Lee founded the high school’s news broadcasting program. I became the editor and learned video editing and graphic design. It was thrilling to have access to new computers, programs, and equipment all because Mr. Lee spent many hours building the program from the ground up. In hindsight, he must have been extremely dedicated and determined to receive that kind of funding and support from the school district. Without a doubt, my years learning from Mr. Lee influenced who I am today. When I was in his classroom, I felt inspired.

That one teacher is definitely Professor Carol Booth Olson. A teacher of future teachers, Professor Olson guides young professionals in a way that is both rigorous and affectionate. She provides close mentorship that many other professors don’t. She ensures that graduates of UCI’s education program are exposed to a network of valuable resources. During her classes, she demonstrated progressive teaching strategies that I still use to this day. She also invited us to her home, where she hosted a formal party to wish our class of new teachers farewell. Under Professor Olson’s mentorship, I felt supported.

That one teacher was absolutely my mentor teacher from my teaching credential program, Summer Teal. Summer Teal’s refreshing honesty and sarcasm showed me that teaching can be effective, joyful, and limited to only your contracted hours. Her classroom was organized, her students were analytical, and the feedback she provided on essays was detailed and thoughtful. She worked from the first bell to the last bell, but she also left immediately after dismissal and did not grade at home. She was sometimes judged for this by her administration, but she preferred to spend her time with her husband and children, and her work-life balance is something I think of every day when I am one of the first teachers to reach the staff parking lot.

I could even argue that that one teacher is my former coworker, Kate Gentilucci. Kate reached out to me when I was a scared 23 year old, suddenly in charge of educating 16 year olds. She answered questions, shared materials, and recommended me for opportunities. Kate was kind enough to explain the complicated paperwork and bus negotiations required to make a field trip possible. She motivated me with her enviable classroom library. I still currently teach the course she “passed down” to me when she left.

When Kate moved to teach in another district, that one teacher was Stacy Barnes. For the past seven and a half years, Stacy taught in the classroom three doors down from me. Stacy taught me to ask for forgiveness instead of permission, and to fight for the students instead of the rules. She put her heart into teaching in a way that I will forever aim to embody. She cried for students, wore costumes for them, respected their identities and demanded that others do the same. Like many other teachers, Stacy recently decided that remaining in education is emotionally unsustainable. Teachers are asked to do too much, expected to sacrifice too much, required to compromise too much. I already miss Barnes dearly, but I still completely understand why that one teacher is not a teacher anymore.

I don’t strive to be that one teacher, that’s not why I still teach. I’ve probably already been that one teacher for many students, but that’s not why I’m considering leaving. I’m eternally grateful to the many phenomenal teachers that I have encountered. They each represent a piece in the complicated bureaucratic puzzle our education system has turned into over the past two decades.

Our teachers are leaving. They are the most valuable mentors we have, and I owe so much of who I am to them. I fear for the inevitable collapse to come, when there are no good teachers left. When the ones like Mr. Lee decide that their passion and determination are better suited elsewhere. When students have to say goodbye to another Stacy Barnes.

To the teachers who’ve quit, I admire you. You inspire me to value myself, to know that I am not trapped in education. You have shown me that caring for yourself does not mean that you did not care about your students.

To the teachers who’ve stayed, I admire you. You inspire me to keep trying, and to know that I will continue to do what I can with what I am given. For now, I stay in education because you have shown me that there are still others who care, who teach with their whole heart.

Teachers, thank you. Keep doing what you love. Or don’t. But know that you’ll always be that one teacher to me.