UVALDE & BUFFALO

What Kind of Gardener are You?

One whose memories cultivate a penchant for peace

Cleaning out my desk. I feel a little like I’m tending cacti I planted years ago, which suddenly start to bloom.

But I hit the memorabilia jackpot — a stack of letters from former students. I detoured from putting them away by sitting down to read a few.

I’m thinking about events in Buffalo, then Texas; promise and love shattered in an instant. Reading missives from former students helps me handle feelings of despair.

Why teach? Low pay, long hours. Parents who complain, and those who don’t care. Students who come to school just to socialize with their friends. But during 20+ years in a high school English classroom, I pushed past the challenges and ended up with a pretty sweet and a mostly fulfilling gig.

I said I wanted to make a difference. And then, after I discovered how thorny the teaching profession can be, I embraced the idea of being able to smooth the way for those coming up behind me. In the end, I taught for the satisfaction of seeing my students “grow up,” as much as high school seniors can, graduate, and go out into the world to show off what they knew and discover where they were going.

Much like 4th-grade teachers Eva Mireles and Irma Garcia in Uvalde, Texas, I had the recurring privilege of helping my students negotiate not only the assigned curriculum in my classroom, but avoid some bumps and bruises along the way.

Recent victims — both dead and alive — won’t be able to have that. And I’m beyond sad because it looks like the path we’re on right now won’t diverge any time soon.

I was lucky during my teaching career. I taught a whole herd of freshmen, and they continued with me in the Journalism Program for all four years of high school. Talk about a transformation! I dare you to find one scintilla of similarity between a 14-year-old and what they become four years later.

But I also had the privilege of teaching juniors the ins and outs of college-level English — how to read, how to understand, how to analyze, how to write for the “real world.” And at the end of the school year, I often recruited those kids for my Journalism staffs.

One long-standing tradition at my high school involved the seniors writing letters thanking their favorite teachers. I’m proud that many of my graduating kids sent their thoughts my way.

One student missive I dug out of my desk illustrates a definite “upside” to being a teacher. Please listen carefully to the writer’s words — they’ll help you this week.

Dear Mrs. N:

For some reason it’s always easier to tell someone what you want when you write it. Face to face, you forget something, but when I write I can put thought into everything to make sure I don’t miss anything I want to tell you. This is kind of cool. This is the first time you will read something from me that you aren’t grading, but you may still find my common spelling blunders or grammar errors. (But I can spare you from my horrendous handwriting by typing.)

I guess the easiest place to start is at the beginning.

Once upon a time…Just kidding, it’s not that kind of story. Anyways, I moved here at the start of my junior year and I hated this school, it was cliquey and seemed very fake. I signed up for AP Lang not really knowing what it was but I knew that if I wanted to be challenged I had to choose that course. I’ve never regretted that decision.

Over time I learned that you were a quirky teacher that ran things the way she wanted them, even if the school board may not have liked it. I always thought that was refreshing because it’s not every day that a teenager is treated like an adult (i.e I could actually use the bathroom in your class without informing you that my intestines and kidneys had finally purified all the liquids I had been drinking for running and then getting you to give me permission to go relieve myself. It’s ridiculous if you think about it.)

But you are more than “the woman who allowed me to urinate.”

Your teaching style and the person you are have helped me grow in more than academics. Because you are a teacher that is herself from the get go and utters every thought that probably comes to your mind, I was able to instantly become myself in your classroom. I think you saw this in my writing but you probably didn’t notice this in my social life.

I’m typically, or was typically, super shy when I first meet people and it usually takes me a while to come out of my shell but in your class I wasn’t like that. I made friends in your class so quickly. You helped show this school who I was, and I know you are either going “aww,” or “this letter has so much cheese I could feed all of China with it.” But I am telling the truth! School sucked till I was able to get over the fear of, well whatever was making me shy. So thank you.

Your clever and constructive annotations on the plethora of timed writings I did for you helped me realize I can’t spell but also gave me confidence.

Thank you for pushing me academically. You see, every teacher I’ve ever had, and also every teacher I’ve known (even if I wasn’t one of their students), always writes or tells students what they’ve done wrong, how they did awful, but you did the opposite.

You would write smiley faces and leave comments that made me believe I am a writer, not just a student writing for a grade. And at the end you would tell me where I could improve or you’d write to me how I had improved. You’ve given me the confidence that I can write, debate, and that I am a bright teenager. So thank you for helping me become a better student. Actually, every time I write an essay I use everything you taught me.

At the end of junior year you offered me a position on your yearbook staff and I decided to join for an easy “A” but also to have another year in Room 215.

My senior year I think I actually became closer to you as a friend. I will remember you being my teacher but I will always remember certain things you did for me. How you wrote me a recommendation on such late notice, how I would sit at your desk for all of class and ask you about politics, etc. But most importantly to me was when I got these horrid braces back on and I was in a terrible mood and I did not want to go sit at lunch with my friends and you let me eat lunch with you. Although I disagree, you told me my braces looked good, to quote you, “oh, whatever.”

Haha, anyways, I’ll always appreciate how I could just go in and sit with you, even if we talked about weird things, like your daughters’ love lives or the most recent election news. You truly are a mother before a teacher because you took care of me through my last two years of high school and also helped me become an accomplished high school student.

I loved getting unbiased opinions from you and laughing at the stupidity of some people.

I will truly miss eating lunch in your room and being able to just sit and talk with you. You are an amazing teacher and woman. Your personality has taught me to enjoy learning and has helped me develop into who I am today. I can never thank you enough for all that you have done for me. I also can never show you how much you have affected me. All I can say is thank you so much and I will honestly miss you a lot.

I will be sending you email updates on my life, my classes, and college life. Oh, and I can’t forget politics. We have an election coming up! I trust you will continue to open my eyes to all sides of the situation.

So thanks again! Keep in touch. Love always, A Senior, Class of 2012

PS: I guarantee I forgot things in this letter, but long story short, you have been a great positive influence on my life.

I ran into this student about two years after she wrote to me. I sat down with her, but she looked busy. I still regret not lingering longer to talk about “the stupidity of some people” — her words, not mine, but I couldn’t agree more.

As a high school teacher, I tended to a garden of so many different personalities. I pushed kids when they needed pushing, and gave them a hearty “oh, whatever” when called for. And even the weeds got my attention.

I’ll commemorate five years of retirement next month, but one thing’s for sure— I may be retired, but I’ll never get tired of hearing from former students as they negotiate their personal journeys. I know Ms. Mireles and Ms. Garcia down in Uvalde would agree with me.