Teachers

I've wanted to write this post for a while, I just haven't known what to say.

That, and I felt like I should have a plate of cookies and a dozen apples ready to take to a school before I get on here talking about teacher appreciation.

Except for that supposed obligation is exactly what's been plaguing me recently-- teacher appreciation isn't a parental potluck once (twice?) a year. It's not even best displayed by that really diligent mom that manages to get a schedule together to provide treats once a week out of true, honest appreciation for the work of teachers.

Teacher appreciation goes way deeper than that because, thankful as they are, parents only know so much of what goes down in the classrooms and corridors. Real, knowing gratitude-- or at least the potential for it-- lies in the students.

Sad, then, that the deeper the potential for gratitude, the subtler-- scarcer, even-- the expression becomes.

It only takes a moment, a little courage, perhaps a slight twinge of relatively fleeting awkwardness to say thank you in person. In a note. With a gesture. Something.

I mean, I know teachers aren't out there crying because the kid that listed "babysitting" as her favorite activity on the homecoming court questionnaire-- the one who reads political memoirs and wouldn't quit talking about last nights' Grey's Anatomy or 24, the one with the loud laugh who likes to answer questions and turn things in on time-- hasn't expressed her thanks. It's not like the college professors need a comparatively average student to affirm their skills so they can feel they've truly achieved something in their careers (after all, they're doing me the favor of an "a" when average technically merits "c") . There are awards and fancy dinners for that.

Right?

Besides, it's just sucking up to do anything more than shuffle on out the door, with maybe a nod or a "have a good weekend" thrown in once in a while for good measure. And plus, you'll never be the cool kid that makes it look natural to throw an arm around the teachers neck and share a joke, so why even try the whole likable/gracious/professional-but-familiar/student/teacher relationship thing? Especially if the only real reason you have to put forth the effort to create such a relationship is so that you can maybe utter the thanks that's been on the tip of your tongue without it being completely and totally weird for the both of you.

I don't know, maybe I'm the only one. It wouldn't surprise me. I've found I'm also pretty alone in the "would enjoy going back to high school" club. (It's not so lonely in the college category).

The main reason I would gladly return to both eras of education? The teachers.

It's not really that I'm itching to get back to essays and cramming. I'm not crazy nostalgic or disliking my current season of life to the point of wishing back the bad hair and teen drama. I'm just saying I wish I'd let more of the teachers know that they made the experience for me.

Other enjoyable aspects were certainly there and had the teachers been terrible, there would still be much fondness felt for my school days. Great teachers are just the icing on the cake.

I had great teachers.

Here's how I know: I still think about them.

(See, teacher appreciation apart from the cookies and potlucks borders on creepy-- I'm almost to the point of regretting starting this post-- too far in to turn back, folks!)

Leave it to Albert Einstein to say it less creepily: "The real difficulty, the difficulty which has baffled the sages of all times, is rather this: how can we make our teaching so potent in the motional life of man, that its influence should withstand the pressure of the elemental psychic forces in the individual?"

Good teachers keep you thinking. I really only think about the teachers who taught me things worth remembering. The great teachers taught me the stuff that became the funnel through which new information gets processed to memory. They taught me the stuff that continues to affect the decisions I make.

This isn't just a good sounding sentiment. It really happens.

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Just today Big D texted me up about this program on freedom songs during the Civil Rights Movement and I thought back to the day I admitted my love of the genre to Dr. O'Donnell. He told me to pursue our subject (the Freedom Rides) through the avenue that interested me best, but to find a way to pursue it. A couple of months later, when I freelanced it to Jackson for an extrapost curricular function with Charlie and Lindsay, his e-mail surprised me. Entitled simply, "I hope..." it read:

"... others are getting as much from your adventure as I am (and that the three of you are getting as much as you are giving those of us following from home).

Exquisite writing by all 3 of you (glad to have Sadie's voice in the conversation too). Powerful. Compelling. Crisp.

Enjoy the next couple of days.

Can't imagine a more thrilling or awesome experience.

I can't wait till the next installment."

It was there before January, but Dr. O'Donnell cemented in me a forever love of the CRM because he made it more than okay to be passionate about it-- he expected it. Can't wait... Great teachers anticipate your work, however comparatively elementary it may be. He also brought donuts, so that didn't hurt.

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I texted Deirdre back and moved on to the next aisle of books at Barnes and Noble. There sat a book about the 1937 Ohio-Mississippi River Flood. Never mind that it probably does a fantastic job of totally picking apart my thesis about the 1927 Flood and its importance, my first thought was wondering if my thesis advisor, Dr. Rigelhaupt, has seen it yet. He helped me get a trip to Atlanta sponsored last year, where I got to roam a book exhibit amidst people who also find these types of books interesting. An enlightening experience, I tell you.

The only reason the Deans office approved the trip was because of Dr. Rigelhaupt's confidence in the oral history project I helped produce in 2009 (Christiane and Justin were also in the class). Great teachers give you assignments to be proud of and give you permission to be confident in the work you produce.

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Mr. Anderson was my very first high school teacher and he was fresh off the plane (I mean, i's possible he drove, but there was no colloquial way to say that) from Chicago. He'd taught for a few years, been in the peace corps a few years, worked a few miscellaneous job a few years-- the man had stories. Being homeroom, our class had a few extra minutes together. Many days Mr. Anderson took those minutes to share one or two of those stories. On one particular day he told us a story, the moral of which was to wear our seatbelts. He added a superfluous detail about this girl who was "like a little sister."

Magdalen quickly corrected him, saying "like-a-little-sisters" were always potential love interests who get labeled as a little sister only because the guy is too scared to try out a romantic relationship. Insightful for a 9th grader, right? Mr. Anderson shook his head as if to say "where do they come up with this stuff," but Magdalen insisted he should call up this girl and declare his love and get her to Little Rock.

I didn't see or hear much from Mr. Anderson during the 10th grade, but I figure he must've done something of the sort re: Magdalen's advice because by the 11th grade (British Literature) he was proposing to Meg and telling us about it on a Monday morning, to Magdalen's tearful delight. She demanded that he admit she was right all along and also demanded a wedding invitation.

Great teachers share enough of their personal lives that you feel a personal connection to the material, as well. The background Mr. Anderson provided on Animal Farm first piqued my interest in Russia and history; he made the themes of Pride and Prejudice feel meaningful, not sappy; he got the complicated, controversial aspects of war across through poetry, despite the odds against any of us believing poetry relevant to our times.

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Mrs. Swedenburg made us turn in current event reports every Friday. At first it didn't seem the most thrilling of ways to end the school week, scrounging around for a news article and scribbling something about its content and implications. In the end, the assignment had me enjoying staying informed and making historical connections to the now. She also taught me how to outline material effectively. Great teachers expose your passion and give you concrete ways to pursue it.

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Mrs. Daniels taught me Trig/Stat. (a simple statement, but a true accomplishment, I assure you). Take away lesson: Great teachers demand respect for their time and their subject, regardless of your feelings for the material.

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Mr. Spicer taught me American Literature and how to question things respectfully. He gave us time after chapel to agree or disagree with the message. He shared about his time with "less than exemplary" characters in a hippie band and methods of civil disobedience. He introduced the concept of living according to a standard while truly loving others who haven't asked for a similar standard. Put simply, he taught me intriguing Christianity. The kind that is real, personal and interesting while not immune to controversy and question-- the kind that is like Christ. Great teachers make you think about what you're learning.

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I didn't learn much material in Mr. Sutterfield's worldview class, but I learned a lot from him. He had a farm and wrote articles to send to magazines and newspapers and liked to call birds and gave us a question of the day that seemed pointless but had the point of teaching us that the small things eventually add up to who you are. He asked things like how much we spent on clothes per year and what book we last read and if we deserved "A's" if "A" stood for truly extraordinary work and didn't that make us feel patronized a little? Great teachers live lives that make you think.

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I had a mission to hug Dr. Poska on commencement day. Turns out, I don't even think she was there. I had literally zero interest in Spain and Latin America as I road tripped my way to college in Virginia. Amusing, then, that I spent the highest percentage of time with a singular teacher (4 semesters) with a scholar on the sexual habits of peasants in Early Modern Spain (she's a scholar on a lot more, of course, but that's the humdinger). She said things like "if you have to cry, seriously leave my office because I'm not a mother, not particularly motherly and I don't do tears." Not to me in particular, it was a general warning to the class.

By the 3rd semester she knew me well enough to call me out personally when addressing the class. "This assignment will take you 7-8 pages... Sadie will take about 14." Great teachers make you have something to say about subjects you don't care about. Or didn't care about. Her last words to me were in mock astonishment when I turned in my final exam: "you weren't last!" Great teachers get you to take your work-- not so much yourself-- seriously.

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Dr. Moon talks faster than any teacher I've ever known before or since. Her lectures pack a punch-- you can't get it all down with pen and paper, even my typed notes had holes. Great teachers don't waste your time.

In the upper level classes (I took 3 semesters with her), almost every meeting was a conversation of peers, led by peers (though moderated by Dr. Moon). She taught us how to skim a book for important information to discuss and skip the rest. Then we'd come to class and talk about the big important themes of consumerism or immigration as if we were suddenly experts from reading the one book. Great teachers make you feel informed enough to discuss and apply the information. Great teachers also make you learn from each other.

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Mrs. Tarpley taught me some French and made us suggest the grade we should receive each quarter, along with a statement on why we felt that grade was fair. Great teachers make you set your own bar and assess your work honestly. Madame also encouraged us to be creative and let us cook for points, which is always a win.

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Dr. Tweedy taught me some African American Literature and the complicated thoughts and theories therein. He demanded good writing (and English style writing-- a true challenge to this history major) and full attention. You went to his class with your game face or you didn't go. He was so intimidating at first because he knows his stuff and he throws stuff out there just to make you mad so you respond with heart. But his door was open for clarification and debate and discussion and advice. Great teachers help.

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All of these things stuck and I remember them on a regular basis. I maybe can't conjugate the verb 'connaitre' or name the great poets and their works (3 digit subtraction is even a little murky, I found out while checking the 9 year olds homework today), but I learned far more important things about loving people and having passion and being honest-- the stuff worth continuing to wrestle with.

I wasn't going to write this post because it comes across so sentimental and kind of cheesy when it's something very real to me, appreciation for teachers. I'd all but given up the daunting task of writing some things I was specifically thankful for because I knew I'd go all long winded on a topic that really isn't that interesting to people who didn't sit in those classes and build the admiration.

Then Queen Rania of Jordan tweeted that it's World Teachers' Day and my seemingly unprompted feelings of gratitude had an occasion for expression.

The challenge? Make the most of the occasion: thank a teacher.

Awards and fancy dinners-- pigs-in-a-blanket and chocolate chip cookies --don't say it like students can.

Oh! and here are pictures of some favorite school kids (past and present) for fun ;)