I'm a grown up!

This past weekend I celebrated my 40th high school reunion. I thought about going through all the usual angst about planning, making decorations, the friends I lost touch with, and all of that, but what struck me about the weekend was the fact that periodically, someone would mention a teacher's name: a teacher that did one thing special, or who lent a helping hand, or who was just a very good teacher. So, as I drink my glass of wine, with each sip I'm going to toast teachers I have known. I'm paying special tribute to my own teachers, who may not have known just how vital they were to me.

To Mrs. Waggoner and Mrs. Spencer, my kindergarten teachers. I don't remember what they did, or how they did it, but I was reading by the time I entered first grade. My most vivid memory of kindergarten was the play areas, complete with castle, kitchen, costumes, and props. School was a happy place for me then, and I think that set the stage for my attitude toward education in general.

To Mrs. Swadley in first grade, who made us all begin reading the daily newspaper by circling the words we knew. By the end of the year, I could read any newspaper. She was a large woman with a very big heart. She had no qualms about hugging or cuddling, and I don't think she ever knew an unkind word.

To Mrs. Joekel in fourth grade, who was a Lutheran and took the time to explain to me who Martin Luther was and the differences between the Lutheran Church and the Baptist Church. I don't think a teacher would ever venture into that territory anymore, but I was excessively curious, and had never known anything but Baptists or Catholics. She was patient and was able to discuss theology on a fourth-grade level without being condescending or patronizing. As kids that age often do, I asked questions rather boldly. She answered my questions directly without being flustered or exasperated. I found it quite refreshing to know that there were other Christian sects. That discovery also helped me to begin my own spiritual journey for a belief system that worked for me.

To Mr. Garrett in the seventh grade, who taught science. Because of Mr. Garrett I learned about the atom, quantum mechanics, evolution, and astronomy. He loved science intensely, and because he did love science so much, we loved science, too. It's a wonderful gift, to be able to convey to others that passion for learning. I am also grateful to him for teaching evolution in a matter-of-fact way, helping to dispel the mythic Darwin and mistaken interpretations of Darwin's theories, and explaining just how evolution happens in nature. I never questioned the validity of evolution. There are many my age who do. Thank you, Mr. Garrett, for helping me to be just skeptical enough not to let misplaced faith cloud my judgement.

To Mr. Wallis, my ninth-grade World History teacher. The man looked so much like Ray Walston to me (of "My Favorite Martian" fame) and his attitude was so much like Ray Walston's teacher character in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." He was just sarcastic enough to make class interesting, but strict enough to keep us in line. I can still remember him leaning up against the radiator with his arms crossed. I remember he liked to cross his arms and tuck his hands under his armpits. Funny how that image is so persistent in my memory. He didn't really teach from the text book (a very good thing in Texas). He read passages to us from biographies, historical records, and from a book called "The Rise and Fall of Practically Everybody." I can still remember whole lectures he gave. That's a pretty good testament, seeing how it's been 45 years. Because of Mr. Wallis, I had a pretty strong working knowledge of how cultures, cities, civilizations grow and develop. This translated into my ability to see how systems work, including business operations and political parties. When I was in high school in the late sixties, I correctly predicted the eventual fall of the Iron Curtain and the dismantling of the U.S.S.R. It wasn't because I was psychic, or even particularly smart, but Mr. Wallis gave me that ability to foresee how Soviet policy was self-destructive, based on comparisons with previous civilizations. He was a great teacher and a great guy.

To Mr. Thrasher, my high school English teacher. One morning he caught me scribbling my initials on my desk. He could easily have taken me to the principal's office, but instead, he simply said "You need something challenging to do," and proceeded to hand me a copy of James Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Most people think it's a dreadful book. Somehow Mr. Thrasher knew I would get the greater meaning hidden within the stream of consciousness. I think I read the book within two hours. Later that afternoon I bounced into his room proclaiming how I was, like Stephen Daedelus, going to become a writer and move to France. I was so full of enthusiasm. He calmly said, "Well, if you liked that one, perhaps you should read Ullyses, and then perhaps The Dubliners." I spent my sophomore year with James Joyce. I moved on to Faulkner and then into Russian novels. I would continue visiting his room even in my junior and senior year, discussing with him books I read and what I got out of them. He loved a good debate, and debated with a calm voice, even if I said something controversial, which I was apt to do. I was into shock value. I wanted to call attention to myself, because I felt so inept and pathetic. But after talking to Mr. Thrasher, I always felt like I was unique and gifted. I'm not the only person that felt that way about him. At the reunion, Mr. Thrasher's name came up over and over, spoken with reverence and deep affection. One person said that he was thinking heavily about quitting school altogether, except that he had Mr. Thrasher for English his senior year, and that Mr. Thrasher encouraged him to go into business as a college major. Mr. Thrasher spoke to his students with respect and understanding. He knew how to encourage using what we knew. Thanks to him, I majored in English, taught English, and still read copiously to this day. Some teachers give you some facts. But others, like Mr. Thrasher, open doors.

To Miss Burgoon--High School Sociology. Honestly, her greatest attribute at that time was the fact that she was so young. She couldn't have been more than five years older than we were. She was so optimistic, so full of ideas. We were her training ground. She crossed boundaries, and I think she probably got in trouble for that (from the administration) which is too bad. Miss Burgoon loved LOVE. She was amazingly candid and open about herself and about life. She didn't know it at the time I had her as a teacher, but I was extremely depressed and suicidal. I was latching on to anything that would just keep me alive for one more day. At one of my darkest moments, she asked me to go out to dinner with her. (See what I mean about crossing boundaries?) At dinner, she told me about her relationship with her boyfriend, which at that time wasn't going very well. For me, it was a pinnacle moment. I was in a miserable relationship with a manipulative psychopath. By simply telling me how she was dealing with her boyfriend, I realized that relationships are just hard. I wish I could say I was then empowered by her words to break up with my boyfriend and to make healthier decisions. I did none of those things. I was on a dark path and just kept going. But she did help me to realize I wasn't alone, and that I had merit, as a woman and as a human being. So here's an extra one to you, Miss Burgoon!!! I heard that the year following my senior year, she got a job with a Montessori School. I hope she's happy and that she still may have a few fond memories of GPHS.

I know other people at my reunion had teachers that I didn't. Debbie talked about Mrs. Carletti, who spent nights and weekends tutoring Debbie, not only during high school, but when Debbie was taking college algebra. George credits his love of science and engineering to Mr. Puckett. He was one of the "cool" teachers who played in a band and invited kids to his place to jam. He came to a party at my house once and made "zilchers." It's a way of setting a trash bag on fire so that as the plastic melts, it makes a great "zipping" noise. Quite the highlight of the party, I must say.

I know the guys loved Avery Miller in metal shop. He had a penchant for bawdy jokes. So I'm drinking my last gulps to those three. Even though I personally never had them as teachers, they should know they had a positive influence on people around me.

Teaching was one of the hardest, yet most profound job I've ever had. I loved the kids. Even when I was so angry I could spit, I still loved them. I love them to this day. I can only hope that I had half the influence on some of my students that my teachers had on me.

And with that, I am drunk. I will now go to bed!!!