Tales of a Teacher

I spend a lot of time thinking about people I know and have known, and how they have impacted my life. Some people breeze through our lives, and make no lasting impact, and others can shape much of who we become. I was fortunate to have a teacher in high school that was one of those people that makes a lasting, positive influence, and from her, I learned many things that I realize now are completely ingrained in my personality and belief system.

I had Mrs. Mac (her nickname) for college prep English in the 10th grade, and she also taught a public speaking course, which I took for all three years of high school. So by my calculation, I had the benefit of being in her presence for roughly 650 hours of my life, during what was a very impressionable time… On the first day of her class, and my first day of high school, everyone had to line up outside her classroom and wait to enter. Everyone was fidgety in line; we couldn’t see what was causing the hold up, and it felt a little like primary school. When it was my turn to enter, I finally saw what was causing the delay. Mrs. Mac was standing inside the doorway, and as each person approached, she was taking hold of their hand, as if to shake it, and then holding it firmly and looking straight into their eyes. She did not say a word, but just looked into our eyes, and when she felt we had properly met her gaze, and made an acceptable “connection”, she would smile, let go of our hand, and allow entrance. For many of the students, it was very uncomfortable, and some had a hard time looking her in the eye, as teenagers often do, or would laugh uncomfortably in the silence. But she took as much time as she felt was needed with each person before moving on. This would be considered an unusual way to greet people coming into any type of class or seminar, but for an English and Speech class, it was profound. For me, it was love at first sight. I knew instantly that this was a person who would have my full attention and respect, that I could expect the same from her, and that she was going to have much to teach me.

Mrs. Mac had piercing blue eyes, a slight frame, an earthy smell, and a no-nonsense air about her. She wore sensible clothes, and was quick with a smile. She seemed ancient, but then to a 15-year-old, anyone over 35 seems ancient. Her classroom was light and airy, and the blinds were always open, with windows that looked out onto a courtyard of trees. On shelves in the back of the room, she kept many small vials and jars of sand, collected from her own travels, and also submitted by devoted past students. They had origins all over the world, and spoke to a love of travel and exploration.

She began each class with a “question of the day”, and everyone was required to speak an answer, even if that answer was a variation of “no comment”. Questions such as “What animal are you today?” or “What color are you today?” or “What would be your ideal job?”. The questions were often repeats, but the answers varied with the day and mood. I imagine the answers gave her insight, over time and as she began to know each of us better, on our current state of mind. I think often about my answer to the “ideal job” question…my answer was “Photojournalist for Sunset“, my favorite magazine, then and now. If I were to be asked that question today, my answer would be exactly the same, with the addition of also including National Geographic, my other favorite publication. How I wound up owning a business that keeps me indoors five long days a week still baffles me, as does the fact that the aptitude test given to us as seniors indicated that “Forest Ranger” would be the career I was best suited to pursue, and that I ignored that, too. I laughed and made fun of the test, and continued skipping down the path toward accounting. I realize now how spot-on that result was.

One of the requirements of being in her class was to keep a journal. There were no stipulations on what to write or the presentation, just that there be a daily entry. We were required to submit these journals to her periodically, for review. Many found this intrusive and bothersome. For me, it was the beginning of a lifelong habit, though one with many gaps. It taught me to be introspective, creative, and concise. She would make occasional comments in the margins, little snippets of concern or support. There was an implied privacy understanding, like patient or client confidentiality, but I always had the feeling that if I had written about something extreme, help would not be far behind. Those early journals were lost, and I would give much to recover them. The first entry in the oldest journal I still have starts out with an expression of grief over their loss, and then just continues on, documenting the drama of being a teenager. I can’t imagine the scope of the things she was privy to.

Her speech assignments tended toward topics that encouraged personal insight, so we were not only learning to become better public speakers, we were baring our souls in the process. Assignments about who we were most inspired by, what news events shaped our beliefs, our own “commencement” speech at the end of senior year. She often gave her own version of an assigned speech, and through those, shared many of her own stories with us. Stories about commitment, sacrifice, tenacity and integrity. Many of my personal ideals were formed on the basis of these tales. She told the story of being overweight, and waking up one morning and deciding that she was done with that, and then heading out the front door and starting to walk. Around the block, around the neighborhood, and then the walking turned to running, and she did it every day, rain, shine, or broken leg…she told us about going out for her daily run, with a cast and crutches. She spoke about her husband, and how he had never once commented on her shape and size. Not when she was heavy, not when she became thin, which she thought was even more important, and how that was proof to her that he loved her for what was inside, and not her appearance. In my online search for her current whereabouts, I ran across a newspaper article, not more than two or three years old, in which octogenarians were being interviewed about keeping physically active, and she talked about her swimming sessions, and how important it was to keep exercising. I was thrilled to see she was still going strong, and still spreading her wisdom.

I have thought of Mrs. Mac fondly over the years, and lately, during a period of “creative awakening” and trying to find more balance and meaning in my life, I have delved deeper into thoughts about who and what have shaped me into the person I am now. I felt an urgent need to talk with her, to compare notes on her stories, to see if I had remembered them correctly, or if I had altered and used them to create unrealistic expectations about various things…expectations that are difficult, if not impossible, for I and those around me to live up to. I decided to seek her out, and was thrilled to find her, alive and well, 35 years since I saw her last. She seemed happy to hear from me, and to no surprise, had trouble placing me, but was willing to make a future plan to meet with me. We spoke briefly on the phone, and I emailed her my contact information and a high school picture. I told her that I had placed her as the second most influential person in my life, after my grandmother, who has been gone a long time. I told her that with my grandmother gone, I needed another role model of a sage wise-woman for the second half of my life. No pressure, though! I hope she remembers to call me back, and that we have a chance to get together. If this does not happen, then at least I had a chance to talk with her, and in my email, let her know how important she was to me.

I have Mrs. Mac to thank for so many things: for the ability to look closely, both within and around, to find joy, and to persevere. For the message that it is never too late to reinvent yourself. That it should be a daily exercise to peer inward and discover what is truly meaningful.

When I was organizing my back room recently, I realized how many jars, baggies, pill bottles and vials of sand and shells I had accumulated in my own travels over the years…each one brought back special memories of a wonderful trip to somewhere. They take up much space, and my husband routinely questions the need for their continued existence, but I will never get rid of them. Just like Mrs. Mac and her tales, they are part of the fabric of me.