Words of wisdom from selected contributors.
An Open Letter To Teachers
Dearest Educators,
I hope this finds you doing well, though I suspect that most of you are still overworked and underpaid. I also hope that changes sometime soon. “Hope springs eternal,” I suppose.
I have been holding on to thoughts unexpressed for too long, and after some recent life events, I am compelled to finally share them. While I have to acknowledge that this writing exercise might be purely cathartic, it’s my intention to brighten a teacher’s day just a little, and remind you that you’re worth more than what a W-2 and benefits package might indicate. Incidentally, I’ll humbly ask that you forgive my lack of formality. Throwing caution to the wind, I will use incomplete sentences, begin a sentence with a conjunction, or even end a sentence with a preposition. One of your peers once told me that harnessing my “stream of consciousness” could be an invaluable writing tool. Her advice seems solid. So, there’s that.
In the 40-somethingth year of my life, I’m experiencing a midlife crisis of sorts, and it’s not driving me to find a young girlfriend, buy a sports car, or get a tattoo. In a far less interesting twist, I realize that I must finish my undergraduate degree and move on to law school. What’s even more anticlimactic about my epiphany is the fact that I don’t fantasize about an area of law that generally garners much attention or typically yields windfall decisions. I just want to practice labor and employment law. I want to represent those that might not be able to fight for themselves when facing the giants of this world—say for example, workers whose contractual rights have been violated, the wrongfully terminated, or an innocent teacher who’s intimidated and trying to make sense of a disciplinary process he or she doesn’t understand. It’s not the stuff of blockbuster legal dramas, but it’s meaningful to me. Educators are partly to blame for my boring pursuits, and I heartily thank them.
This part is important: With a basic public school education, I was well prepared for my first attempt at college. I only stopped because I lacked funding, and more importantly, discipline. Teachers can’t be blamed for that. Lord knows your hands are tied, but that doesn’t stop some from expecting you to pull off miracles with troubled children. Anyway, recognizing the need for a good swift kick in the tail after my first semester at the University of Tennessee, I took a brief reprieve to join the Marines. (I have frequently chosen the hardest route in life, sometimes to my detriment, but frequently to my benefit.) As one might guess, I got my head screwed on straight from the experience.
This is just as important, if not more so: I was equally prepared for success in the Service. Now begins my roll call of praise. Because of Ms. Reynolds, I could calculate the trajectories of indirect fire and understand how the origin of a radio transmission is triangulated. Ms. Humphrey helped me understand how political, religious, and nationalist ideologies could keep countries at war for decades, or bring them together. Thanks to Mr. Moreno, I understood how a phosphorus mortar works, and why it can be so devastating. Ms. Ashe made it clear to me that all cellular function requires H2O, so I understood how crucial it was to stay hydrated, and how performance changes under short supply of water. Remembering Ms. Black’s anatomy and physiology lessons, I recognized the need to place my hands a distance of two-fingers width above the bottom of the sternum to administer CPR, or risk breaking the xiphoid process and puncturing the diaphragm in the process. Harnessing any lick of thespian ability Ms. Burkhart instilled in me, I could look stoic during the most trying times. Coach Roberts taught me to control my breathing and maintain good posture during distance running, literally setting me strides ahead of some of my fellow Marines. I can type all this at 35+ words a minute, because Ms. Shaw persisted, though I later hid the ability from my chain of command, lest I be wrangled into office duty. After all, I volunteered for the infantry to prove some things to myself physically, not to unknowingly use all the invaluable learning tools instilled in me at school. Surprising to me at the time, I could write ten or more pages of patrol orders clearly and succinctly. Ms. Fischer might even agree that I finally “found the writer in me.” Truly, if I had a decent understanding of the world around me, and I could articulate my thoughts about it, it was because I had teachers who didn’t quit. In fact, I was eventually tasked, like all Marines, with passing on the things I had learned. Isn’t that something? You taught me, and it enabled me (of all people) to share knowledge. Amazing. All things considered, I think I fared pretty well in the Corps, and when I had completed my obligation, I decided it was time to give school another chance.
Upon my return to the “real world”, a professor told me, “Ninety percent of life is showing up.” I didn’t wholly believe him. Quickly proving him correct, I did well when I threw myself into my studies, and when I was uninspired and noticeably absent, my grades were mediocre. Truly, knowledge is power, and education improves us, but I had to acknowledge at the time that I was just going through the motions. I had no idea what I wanted to do with a degree, or what degree I should seek. During that somewhat expensive time of self-exploration, I was blessed to meet and fall in love with someone who did know what she wanted to do. In fact, she had an undeniable calling, and it involved finishing her education first. She always knew what she was supposed to do, and I will always admire her for that. Lost in my own college pursuits, I happened upon a career with the railroad that would amply provide for two, finance the rest of my new bride’s education, and keep me fulfilled. For some time.
Much of that fulfillment came from serving organized labor, first as a legislative representative, and later as a local chairman. They were unpaid, purely voluntary roles, but I took great pride in trying to help others, sometimes by representing employees in hearings, sometimes by reaching out to various federal entities on their behalf, and sometimes just being a sounding board. In every circumstance, I’m grateful I could read and understand legislation or labor contracts, explain them to my coworkers, and most importantly, illustrate by word how a wrong must be righted. In many cases, it was an attorney who had to fight the last ten yards to victory. But, it’s simply the nature of the system, and I laud those who picked up where I had to stop.
Now, I want to be that advocate. So, I’ve re-admitted to school, met with an advisor, and made a plan. It’s a scary plan, but I’m confident in my ability to execute it. In this season of change and uncertainty, I keep remembering a time, many years ago, when I honestly thought I couldn’t write. I thought I couldn’t do anything like what I want to do now. Don’t get me wrong; I understand there’s much to learn, and I’m hardly an accomplished pensman, but when I browse the syllabus and read, “Writing Intensive Course,” I am undeterred. I am unafraid. I am sure. Teachers made that possible, in spite of me.
I can’t overstate what a bad student I was in high school. I will never forget one educator lamenting, verbatim, “You’re just frustrating. You have so much potential, and you’re just wasting it.” More than one other teacher expressed similar disappointment. I think now they must have understood me well and truly cared, because I usually responded to that kind of guilt-tripping, and they were all “right as rain” in their approach. If I could, I would personally apologize to every teacher who ever dreaded going to school the next day knowing I would be there. I’m so sorry for trying anyone’s patience. Looking back, I thought I was clever, funny, witty, and unique. Truth be told, there are millions of students out there just like me, and they need you so badly, just as I did. To those who taught me—and you truly taught me—thank you for remaining steadfast in your duties. Whether you know it or not, you were reaching me, and I’m better for it. Now I see that all educators are invaluable, if underappreciated; glorious, if unglamorous. You are deeply loved. All of you.
This seems like a good stopping point, as I need to pick up dinner for my wife and kids. She’s a teacher, you see, and working late, again. What I bring won’t be as good as a home-cooked meal, but I’m happy we can eat together as a family, even if it’s in her classroom. She’s so dedicated to her students, and I realize she’s not the exception. To my delight, I was able to personally thank a few educators recently at the school system’s “Teacher of the Year” banquet. My wife represented her school. Needless to say, I’m fiercely proud of her. And you.
Semper Fi, and Thanks
Aaron Hanna
Nice to see someone sticking up for teachers and doing it with a little humor. They would be pleased.