This morning when I woke up, I did the same first thing that I always do: I check my phone. More specifically, I check (in this order) my texts, my Twitter notifications, email glance, then ahh: my Facebook feed. As you may (or may not) know, that is my world news source; friends, family, politics, quotes, memes, actual news, so on.
As I scrolled down, down, down the stream of ‘stuff’ my eye was caught by an obituary, and there- in black against white- was a name that I hadn’t spoken aloud in many years, but thought of often. We called him Mister. He was a high school literature/poetry teacher, a coach, and probably a dozen other things that I’ve never been aware of. Teenagers are very self centralized, I was no exception. I can only speak of my memories, my impressions, and no one else’s, because I simply never took the time to ask anyone. So, if you know him and remember him, yours may be similar, or totally different. Either way, I’d like to honor him with a remembrance and a thank you, and a hope that these words drift up to whatever corner of heaven he’s holding court at.
He was a wily, wiry slight man who always reminded me of what Mr. Tumnus would look like were he an older (human) man. Glasses and tufts of curly hair sprung out like exclamations. He’d either greet us at the door in his somewhat customary (to my memory, at least) corduroy pants and plaid shirt, coffee (Spiked? We always thought so.) and a snarky salutation. Other times, in between classes, we’d pop by and catch him sneaking a smoke out the window in the back of the room, one he’d casually toss out and wordlessly dare you to reprimand him. Please, we were kids, we thought he was cool. I still do, by the way.
But my favorite memories of Mister, are the times in class when he’d push me to the point of tears (once) or to utter frustration (often), and even kick me out of class (once). You see, Mister would pull out copies of these deep, powerful poems, and pass them out to the class, giving us some time to read them- absorb them as he would say- and then he would grill us on what we thought the meaning was; word by word, line by line. And he was relentless. But wait, I’ve jumped ahead. Let me fill in the blanks.
I, by self admission, was a total slacker. I drifted though school in a haze, mostly oblivious, always with passive resistance. I had teachers call me ditzy, one called me a flake, and most just rolled their eyes and send home reports that ” Melanie has the potential, just not the focus.” (Technically, I had ADD, but that wasn’t a ‘thing’ then.) But before Mister, no one took the time or the interest to call “Bullshit” on my antics.
The year before I had Mister as a teacher, I passed by his room every day to go into the one next door for American Literature. That class, too, had a wonderful, sweet teacher- we’ll just call him Mr. R. for here- who didn’t buy my act, Bless him. Anyhow, these two teachers- Mister, Mr. R. and a third, Mr. K.- (whose rooms were all adjacent) they loved me. I’m not being vain, and it was never inappropriate (because these days, you have to make sure you say that) but they found me entertaining and loved my escapades, particularly, my frequent boyfriend break ups. They nicknamed me “The Ax-Master”. It was great fun, we all laughed, and this was how Mister came to know me at all. Anyhow, one day, as I approached their classrooms, Mister (as per usual) was standing in his doorway, but not with his usual funny fresh looking grin, and instead a serious scowl, directed at me. Being the brat that I was, I said, “What’s that look for? Whatever it is, I didn’t do it!” Instead of laughing, he motioned me with a ‘come here now’ gesture. He said, “You know, I’ve looked at your records. I’ve seen your IQ, and this? (waving his hand at me) This is a crock of shit. You’re taking my class next year, because you’re smart.”
You know, I have no idea if he actually did pull my records. Was our IQ even in there?! No idea, don’t even care. All I know, is in that moment, I felt… seen. Mister could see me, even though I tried to hide, he saw more that what I showed. Did he know how much I loved words, how I dreamed of being a writer? I swear, he must have. That my friends, is the essence of a real teacher, one who takes the time to see more than the surface.
So, flash forward, the next year: Mister is my Poetry teacher (was that the actual name of the class? I have no idea, again.) We dissect poems with fine tooth combs, we analyze, we speculate, we think. A snowflake is no longer just a snowflake, it is the writers expression of a delicate emotional connection to… I don’t remember, but it was more than just a snowflake in a poem. We wrote our own work, which, once again, we broke down for depth, for meaning. I wrote something- I don’t recall the context, but it had to do with a horse running, and Mister prodded me to give the verse more depth, and I couldn’t find the words, or in his opinion, I wouldn’t. So, he pulled me fro the noisy room, took me into another, empty classroom, and broke that verse down word by word, until I pulled from some unknown well descriptives that gave a whole new life to a simple sentence; The horse no longer ran, it moved with powerful grace, kicking up grainy clouds of white sand with sinewy flanks that pumped methodically, glistening with exertion in the hot sun.
He did that. He taught me the infinite power of words, the magic of words. Sometimes he took me there kicking and screaming, but he wouldn’t quit, more importantly, he wouldn’t let me quit. I think maybe, Mister was my first hero. I had forgotten the impact he had on me as a writer, until I started writing this little thank you note. Wow. I didn’t think I’d cry, it’s been so very long since I’d seen or spoken to him, but yes, my eyes are feeling that familiar sting. I hope this is enough, that it shows enough of what someone’s positive influence can do for another. I hope it’s thank you enough, I hope it’s eloquent enough (because Mister’s voice is inside my head right now, telling be to go back and re-write it. This time, with more oomph). I hope he sees it and smiles that funny grin of his.
Thank you Mister.
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