Be That Teacher

It was more of a pathway in the woods than a road. Overhanging limbs brushed the windshield and scraped the side of the truck. The road meandered upwards with no end in sight. 

But I followed it anyway. Recent rains had filled all the potholes, effectively disguising just how deep they were. My truck bounced mercilessly.

Coming up a final incline, a curl of smoke and the top of a metal chimney pipe came into view. Then I saw a woodshed that somehow had become a home.  Knocking on the door, I could hear whispering, then the door cracked open to reveal a woman staring at me with bloodshot eyes. “Yeah?”

Her question was all the greeting I’d get. I explained I was her son’s teacher and that I missed seeing him at school. What I didn’t say, is that his absences had led to his being held back last year, and so far, he was on pace to fall behind again, unless he came to school more regularly.

I could see her son standing at the far end of the small room. He was tall for a 10-year-old. He was wearing the same clothes he wore when he did come to school—ragged jeans and a tee shirt. His mom was hungover and the small shed reeked of cigarette smoke and booze. I tried to look like I didn't notice. 

She opened the door wide enough so she could look at me better. Maybe something in her knew she wanted a better life for her son. I don’t know. But I said that if she could have her son at the bottom of her driveway every school day, I’d make sure he got to school. 

The boy and I looked at each other. I smiled and handed him a wind-up clock. I told him to wind it up before he went to bed and pull out the alarm button and then he wouldn’t be late. I knew we couldn’t depend on his mom. 

That became a new beginning. I’d be at the bottom of that woodland road at the appointed time. The boy would be waiting. The rest of that school year we both learned a lot. 

I realized just how hard some kids have it, and he managed to overcome those hard circumstances. 

That boy went onto the next grade, and even though I wasn’t his teacher, we liked our morning and afternoon routine and kept it up throughout his school days.

When I watched him graduate from high school, I saw him look for my face in the crowd. I admit, I cried. 


That boy went on to become a teacher—and he’s on the lookout for students like he was. 

How do I know? I was that boy. And all I ever wanted was to be that teacher.

Note: Both of these teachers have now retired, but their work lives on through their students. Image credits in order of use: Deleece Cook, Amanda Jones, NeONBRAND, & Aaron Burden

Popular posts from this blog

Counting the Cost

Image
Something big is missing in this photo. Let me explain. Here in my hometown, the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe prepared a parcel of land for a new hotel. Plenty of planning and architectural designs were evaluated. A gemstone of a hotel would be built across from the waterfront—a beautiful, restful place welcoming travelers. A true four-star facility.   They cleared the aging brick structures that had been fading away between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Then the pandemic hit, shortages of labor and supplies, add in the costly inflation that followed. Everything stopped.   But this is what I admire about the Elwha Tribe: they have counted the cost. They didn’t want to move forward and take on tremendous debt. They would rather move slowly and be financially ready, rather than begin building and then letting it sit unfinished.   Counting the cost is something I should have done earlier in life when I didn’t know what high interest rates would do to our farming cost...
Read more

Summertime Music

Image
During the summer months, in an outside seating area, a delightfully painted piano sits with a sign that says, “Play me”.   It was just before 8 pm as I walked past the piano. My bus would be arriving soon, and I still have another ten minutes to walk before reaching my bus stop. But no one is around. It’s a beautiful warm evening. I pulled out the piano bench and sat down. The sun was behind me, and the piano keys reflected its glow. I had no music in front of me, only the songs within me. Notes drifted into the air.  In those brief moments, the magic of music and summer came together. Isn’t that how it is? Summertime music has a way of lingering in our minds and lasting a lifetime. As I stood and grabbed my things, I heard distant clapping—I guess I wasn’t alone, after all.
Read more

Planting Good Seeds

Image
Harvest will always depend on what we plant and how well we care for our crop.    Looking over my seed packets, I notice they’re different than the ones I planted before. One package is called Word seeds. The directions say that each of my words is a seed, so it cautions me to think before I speak. Harsh words don’t produce sweet, nourishing fruit. These seeds will require thoughtful care in the garden. I see some Volunteer seeds. Those extra hours I tend to fritter away are going to be planted in a useful project.   It looks like time isn’t wasted in this garden plot. Next are some Love seeds—the directions are interesting: get up each day and love others. No specifics are given—just do something for someone every day. The seed package shows pictures of smiling faces. I smile back. As I’m ready to head to the garden with my seeds, a package falls to the ground. I open it. Inside are the tiniest seeds I’ve ever seen—but the directions s...
Read more