Luckily, I had three teachers who positively impacted my life:
My 7th and 8th grade math teacher was a retired Air Force Colonel. He always had chalk stains on the top of his pants pockets, typically put his tongue out where he would otherwise have a cigarette, drew his “pleasing arcs” on the board when graphing an equation, and enjoyed a high energy game of Moose Moose on Fridays.
He taught our pre-algebra and algebra classes as if he were teaching military recruits. He demanded our best and most often got it. He didn’t give up on us when we were struggling to grasp a concept, telling us to “use our heads for something other than a hat rack.” His tests were difficult, but well-rooted in the lessons. He would review what was on each quiz before handing them out to us, so if you were paying attention, you could conceivably get an A.
As an adult, I attempted to contact him to visit and thank him for being such a great influence in my life. He had died two years prior, so I never got that chance. Still, I appreciate him so much I have often implemented his ways to help teach others principles that are difficult.
My 8th grade history teacher was Viking-gorgeous! I remember when he showed up on campus for his interview. I watched him get out of his car and walk into the office with the thought of, “yeah, whatever he's here for, he’s the man for the job.” His calm influence and unconditional support of his students made him one of my favorite teachers even if I couldn’t STAND the subject he taught. But the reason he made such an impression in my life is this: he saved me from being assaulted by a fellow student after school one day. His classroom was only one of two that was located in a back hallway behind the school stage/gymnasium. I often traveled that hallway to get from the fields where we had after-school sports to my locker in the building across the quad from his classroom. One day, I was really late getting off the fields and was rushing through that back hallway. I didn’t notice Michael hiding behind the lockers. He grabbed me and pushed me up against the lockers and attempted to get his hands under my clothing. My history teacher heard the noise and interrupted. He ended up walking me back to the front of the school, making sure I was safe with other adults before returning to his classroom. He checked in with me throughout the following week, too, just to let me know he was watching. He was my hero until the day he died. I attended his memorial at the school and told his wife what he meant to me.
My high school English teacher was a great character model for me. He treated me with respect not often given to us at high school age; called me his Hi-Powered TA. He also called me out on my “just get by” mentality when it came to my English lit class. He knew I was capable and just skating by. He signed my yearbook: "To my Hi-Powered TA! You are a gifted young lady wise beyond your years in many ways. I know you will do well at SLO. I only hope your 'rather relaxed' work habits that allowed you to skate thru LO don't get you in trouble in SLO town. And watch out for those AGGIES!"
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