Local opinion: A letter to a legendary teacher

You may not remember me. I know you have had thousands of students in your extraordinary 50-year teaching career. Let me jog your memory. I was your seventh-grade English student who did not receive a grade higher than a C on my assignments. I was the student at the first Junior High dance that you tapped on the shoulder during a slow dance to remind me that I was dancing too close.

I was your Speech and Debate student who held the school record for the lowest score ever awarded in a Regional Speech and Debate contest. I still have nightmares about freezing in front of the judges in the middle of my impromptu speech.

I was the student you regret talking into trying out for the school play you were directing. Opening night, my grandma was sitting in the front row in the gym, beaming and so proud of her grandson, a future Robert Redford (her favorite actor). Then came the scene where I had “sprained” my ankle jumping out a stage window escaping from the all-girls school director whose dorm I was visiting, but not allowed to be in. My fellow castmates decided to prank me by icing down the ankle soaking bucket. When they brought it on stage with the ice removed, I did what I always did in rehearsal, plunged my foot into the bucket. I then went off script and yelled some words by grandma had never heard come out of my mouth or Robert Redford’s. Even with the stage lights in my eyes, I could see her glare. No chicken and biscuits for a month.

I was your student who was an alternate for the quiz bowl team you were coaching and replaced your star student who was ill for a crucial match. I buzzed in with the last question, “Name the capitol of South Dakota,” and I answered “Bismarck.” We lost by one point.

I write to you because each one of these experiences, as traumatic as they may have been at the time, made a real difference in my life, and guided my career path to becoming a teacher.

I did not receive higher than a C because I did not earn a grade higher than a C. You had high yet realistic expectations and backed them with engaging and interesting lessons. You always gave me feedback on how to improve my writing, not just a big red C. You understood that a student’s grade did not define their character. You never stopped encouraging me, even though my progress was slow.

Late apologies for giving you such a hard time when you asked me to try out for the school play. You were both patient and persistent, two qualities I hope I have emulated throughout my career. I told you all the “I can’t” reasons. I can’t get up in front of people. I can’t memorize the script. I can’t act. You rebutted every “I can’t” with a “You can.”

I remember you saying, “I’ve had you in class for three years, I know you act in front of people, and I will help you learn your lines.” You wore me down, because deep down, you knew I could do it. You knew I would thrive in the spotlight, fueled by the applause of the stage. The clairvoyant you saw something I couldn’t yet see: that being in a play wasn’t just a one-and-done, it was preparation for a future where I’d need to command a room, inspire an audience, and teach with confidence.

Since I met you on my first day of Junior High, you have treated me with kindness and respect. You encouraged me to take risks and step out of my comfort zone. You provided me with a safety net when I fell. You motivated me to exceed my own expectations.

You are the reason I became a teacher. In large part, you are the reason behind me creating Legendary Teacher Day. On Sept. 25, I will once again reflect on the difference you made in my life.

Sincerely,

Nic