Did you ever have that teacher? The one who, by the end of the year, left you with something you didn’t remember having before that? Well, I count myself very lucky to say that I believe I had many. From Kindergarten alllll the way to my final semester in undergrad, I found…
myself being taught by some truly incredible people.
I had teachers who taught me how to express my feelings with words. And what those words meant. And how powerful of a tool words could be.
I had teachers who taught me how to work for a grade. Even when it challenged my brain to work in ways I didn’t think it could.
I had teachers who taught me what it was to fail. And how to bounce back from that.
I had teachers who taught me what it felt like to completely get it. To feel smart. And to feel empowered by that intelligence.
I had teachers who made me want to learn. About things that I didn’t care about before their class. About things I never would have cared about without them.
I had teachers who challenged me to change my perspective and views. To think bigger. Broader.
I had teachers who made me think. Really think. About what I wanted to be.
I had teachers who I could tell absolutely loved teaching. And that, well, that is probably what made me love them the most.
Teachers who made lasting impressions with their toolboxes and mnemonics and tricks.
A teacher who taught me about an entirely different part of the world.
One who made me think grammar was basically the coolest thing ever.
Three who gave me music. In a way that I completely loved.
Teachers who coached, too. And helped me learn about being part of a team.
One that inspired as she smiled through everything… Through cancer… Through it all.
Teachers who, above all, encouraged creativity. Free thought. And coloring outside the lines.
Countless teachers who were beyond passionate about one thing… The kids they got to teach.
And I had this one teacher. The teacher who made me actually feel a book. Feel it come to life.
It was The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles. I was in second grade. And she, that teacher, was the most lovely human I’d ever met, I believe I thought. The book. That book. I can still remember sitting in her classroom. Listening to her read the words to us. And actually seeing the story in my mind. Picturing all of the characters and creatures. The far off place where they existed. It was the first book I experienced. Or at least, that I can recall experiencing. And I thought of that book again the other day. As my own child read to me. And I thought about how I have hope upon hopes that he and his brothers have a teacher like her. Like my many others. Many times over. I hope that they receive priceless gifts from those teachers. That they will haul with them through all parts of life. And I hope they get to feel a book. Many books. Feel music. Feel teamwork. Feel what it is to learn. What it means to experience learning.
It’s Thursday. A great day to say thank you. So thank you to all of my that teacher{s}. Teachers who, even to a 32 year old mother-of-three, still matter. Teachers that were, and will always be, my difference makers. Thank you for choosing to teach. To share. And to help students feel.
Thank you, for giving me Whangdoodles.
Who will you thank today?
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November 21, 2013
