My youngest child is a high school senior this year. I hear I’m supposed to be completely tragic about it. However, his childhood, like every youngest child, has seemingly lasted the longest. Moreover, he had a cheerful K-12 path and has exciting chapters ahead. I feel grateful. He has been lucky in life and therefore so have I. But it’s strange to think this is the last year I’ll be connected to his day-to-day. I have realized I will likely never meet another teacher in his life after this year. And that is truly sad. Because I love teachers.
Part of my deep respect for teachers grows out of the certainty that I could not be one. It’s a difficult job and requires a wide range of skills I lack, from patience to math acumen to going with the flow. Admittedly, I have been vocal about my displeasure with various school issues over the last twenty-one years, but we have, without question, won the lottery as a family in one singular category. Teachers.
Preschool was truly magical. I still feel pangs of longing when I drive by it now. Our biggest worry was whether or not we could find a suitable object to bring for the letter of the day. I remember my middle son coming home one day to say his teacher thought he could be a scientist someday. He was four. And inspired.
The elementary years. My kids went to a small public school where it felt everyone knew everyone. They could safely ride their bikes door to door. I knew their teachers quite well. School events. Conferences. Volunteering in the classrooms. Emails and handwritten notes back and forth via the backpack. Relationships were built. Their elementary teachers were so dedicated. Tolerant of chaos. And it was easy to show our gratitude. Appreciation days and substantial coordinated group gifts and cards and meals and piles of apple-themed everything. My youngest son brought flowers to his teacher the first day every year. It softened the blow for when they discovered the level of energy he would soon bring to the room.
Middle school. While it’s difficult to find an adult willing to return to the middle school years, my kids had it pretty good. It was a much stricter environment than elementary, but those middle school years, the teachers were herding cats while also teaching social studies. And yet, even these teachers knew my kids. Keeping track of hundreds of students each day and coping with the moods and whims of tweenagers, they still reached out to parents. They still checked in when something went well or did not. I like to think we tried to help each other manage the crazy. Middle school teachers are a special kind of brave.
Finally, high school. Where kids go from being terrified newbies to adults on paper. A wild four years of growth. High school teachers are managing tremendous pressures from administration, parents, and students who are in a tumultuous four years by any measure. Most handle it with such grace, navigating their careers under a microscope. Few professions are critiqued on such a large scale other than politicians or parents. It’s tough to comprehend the amount high school teachers invest in their students in time and talent.
My daughter had a chemistry teacher in high school she really enjoyed. She asked to buy him a gift to celebrate the year. I believe anyone who can demystify chemistry in a fun way deserves presents and large cash gifts. We bought him a coffee tumbler. I imagine he got far more students sobbing in his office than year-end gifts.
But it becomes difficult to thank teachers as the kids grow up. And as we all grow up. My teachers didn’t simply teach me curriculum standards. I had many who taught me how to enjoy my life. Mr. Hilsen taught me chess. Mrs. Houlton taught me to dance with joy. Mrs. Wallenberg taught me to dig into big books with big words and big ideas. Mademoiselle Manny taught me to order food in French. Mr. Cwodzinski taught me Civics can be interesting and a participation sport.
When we hold hands around the table this month, let us include teachers on our gratitude list. Let there be a moment of reverence for all the people who poured so much into each of us with so little fanfare. And if we have teachers in our sphere right now…maybe write them a note. Send a little gift. Thank them for a job well done.