A Long Line of Teachers

Sometimes when I think back to all the teachers I've had over the years, I see them standing in a long line down the hallways of my schools. So many memories: voices, hands, faces - so many people that played a huge part in my life. Every one of them helped to make me who I am.

This week is Teacher Appreciation Week. I want to walk down that hallway and name them one by one, to honor them for all they did for me.

I remember my kindergarten teacher, Miss Katy. She saved my life - literally. One of the children had brought candy for his birthday, and I swallowed mine and began to choke. This was before the days of the Heimlich maneuver, but Miss Katy didn't hesitate a moment. She ran over, turned me upside down and shook me like a rattle until the candy flew out of my mouth and across the floor. Wow. Miss Katy, I never thanked you - but I do now.

My first grade teacher, Mrs. Graham, was a large woman with skin the color of milky coffee and a rich, deep, infectious laugh. I remember her humming softly in quiet moments, and her hands moving with the beat as she sang us her favorite songs. She taught me music was beautiful.

Mrs. Martinez gave me a chance. She chose me to play the autoharp for the school concert. I still remember how nervous I was, and how her crisp nod to me to begin signaled absolute confidence that I could do it - and so I did. She taught me to take risks.

Mr. Weber taught Science in my middle school years. He was a timid, soft-spoken man, and he struggled to keep his large class of obnoxious preteens focused. We gave him a hard time, I'm afraid. He taught me to respect the perseverance of hard-working teachers. Wherever you are, Mr. Weber, thank you for not giving up on us.

Then there was Mr. Holub, who read my poetry and encouraged me to keep writing. He read every page of my assignments and took the time to scribble encouraging comments that I treasured. He taught me to trust my voice and to love to write.

I can still see Mrs. Dixon, our drama coach, standing in the back of the room, signaling me to speak up, speak louder, more emotion, please! She showed us how to bring the world alive on the stage. Her "Excellent job, everyone!" was all we needed to walk tall for the rest of the day.

I walk down that hall in my memory, shaking their hands. Thank you, I say, again and again. Thank you for all of those long days on your feet, explaining and urging and teaching young minds. Thank you for your patience, your humor, your creativity and your hard work.

I know that at the end of those long days you went to meetings and spent evenings correcting homework and making phone calls to parents, and you spent weekends and summer days writing units and lesson plans. You had your own worries and often kids of your own to raise, but you came into that classroom day after day and year after year. Thank you for that.

You put books into my hands, taught numbers to obey my bidding and opened my eyes to the world around me. You taught me to look back at history and ahead to the future, to think and reflect and ask questions; to speak up for what was right and believe in myself. You sent me out into the world as ready as I could be, and if I've accomplished anything in this world, it was because of the gifts you gave me.

It's been many years since I left those halls behind, and I'm sorry to say those good people have long since left this world. But they're not gone, of course - not while all the children they taught are still here. The seeds they planted will last long after they're gone.

So to all of them, and to all the hard-working teachers today - thank you.