The Value of a Teacher’s Lesson

"See kings lose crowns, but teachers stay intelligent." - KRS-One

I come from a small town in Mississippi. I lived there until three weeks after my high school graduation. From there, I took my first plane ride to head to San Antonio. Being from a small town, you know everybody. I appreciate this because it felt like everyone cared for me and they wanted me to succeed. Which means I couldn’t get away with anything. Another thing about being from a small town is mostly everyone had the same teachers from kindergarten until the moment they receive their high school diploma. I feel that teachers are one of the most important jobs in this world. It shouldn’t be taken lightly. People who teach should want to make lasting impacts on each student and not do it just to get a quick check. There are many teachers that I appreciate because they put so much care into my education, but there are only a few whose impact can still be felt as I type this. Walk with me as I take a trip down memory lane.

Mrs. P was one of my teachers in elementary school. She taught me creativity. At a very early age I had a penchant for writing and drawing. I would create short stories and illustrate them. Back home I have a manila envelope filled with these stories. Mrs. P encouraged me to continue doing this. A simple “good job” and “keep it up” goes a long way with a 6-8-year-old. Saying those things and giving that same kid ideas for the next story makes that kid not want to let that teacher down. That kind of motivation kept me drawing and writing. I caught the drawing and writing bug from her class. From telling simple stories of me and my dog as a kid to creating short stories filled with double meaning as an adult, I appreciate the motivation that I was given from Mrs. P. Because of her, I push another’s creativity when I can, especially my daughter’s. I would love for her to follow the path, but I will make sure that it doesn’t take 20 or 30 years for her to show the public. Thank you.

Moving up to high school, Mrs. F taught me my potential. She used that word a lot with me. I could’ve been a straight A student if I applied myself more. I still ended up an honor grad, but my 4-year average could’ve been higher. For one, her being able to see that potential in me made me realize that I have more to offer. Secondly, now when I see potential in others, I try to give them that encouragement. You never know. Your words can be just the thing a person needs to make the biggest strides in their life. Thank you.

This one took me over a decade to digest the lesson that was taught. This goes back to the potential. I spent 6 years playing the trombone for my school’s band. If I recall correctly, I was usually near the top chairs during my high school years but at one point I went all the way to bottom. The band director and I didn’t see eye to eye. He kicked me out of band twice. The first time he left his assistant band director in charge while he was away, I started a fight. Several other situations in that one period made me dislike everything about band. May 23, 2003 was the last time I played a trombone for a long time. Because of my dislike for him, I never wanted to play that instrument again. It wasn’t until I got into jazz that I actually yearned to play the trombone again. The yearning pulled at me more when my nephews started down the same path. One actually plays the trombone. When I picked up his trombone and actually played the B-flat scale with ease, that’s when it hit me: regret. So, for a lesson where dislike became regret, I thank you.

My mom was a teacher who taught Special Education for over 32 years. She spent those years working at two different schools. The second school she worked was where I received all my junior high and high school education. I put her through it sometimes because I used to be the class clown. It wasn’t until they threatened to call my mom that I would stop. I know she used to hope that when one of my teachers started coming down the hallway towards her class that they were just passing by and not stopping to talk about me. As my mother, she’s taught me so much. She retired a year or two after my little sister graduated, so she hasn’t had to create a curriculum of that level for over 10 years. She has taught me things that was beyond the love that she had given me over the years. One in particular is she taught me to love my passion. Her passion is to teach, so even though she doesn’t teach anymore, she does lend her background in education when she can. A great example of this was when she was worried about students. I told her that she had done so much for the education of countless students that she shouldn’t worry and let the teachers in place handle it. She would worry herself sick if she thought of each student. But that passion never dissipates. I hope to have a sliver of that kind of passion for my writing when I get older. So, for that mom, thank you.

There are others. I remember Mrs. H teaching me fear because as a kid living in a state where they still can paddle you, she was one you did not want to give you three licks. She didn’t say much in the hall and you can tell she was an avid cigarette smoker. I remember dumb me picking up “Black Power” from somewhere so as I walked out of one of my teachers’ classes I yelled it out. I thought nothing of it. I mean, she couldn’t paddle anyway and I didn’t think this comment would warrant it. Little did I know what I had done. She called me back in her room and sent me to the workroom, but before we went in there, she got Mrs. H. I’m thinking she was just being the witness. Oh no. Mrs. H was there to divvy out the punishment. I never got another paddling from her. I remember in Mrs. L’s class I first learned the lesson/power of petty. She is by far my favorite teacher. I remember a time where a student was being loud and disrespectful in a class and she corrected with a quick and precise blow of pettiness. All of these teachers with intelligent and passionate about what they were doing and the students under them. I will forever be grateful to each of them.