Teachers

I was 15 when I first received news about how my life would go. I was a poor student, sitting in an English class awaiting the return of our homework assignments. It was assigned a few days prior. We had read some stories in class and we were asked to compare and contrast the two stories. I remember thinking that the assignment seemed rather trivial and I wrote the paper with that attitude. I turned in paper that was roughly a page and a half long…maybe, 600 words.

I was the 15 year-old kid who sat at the back of the classroom and watched the clock. I wanted the day to be over so that I could go home or go to work. I really had no direction for my life. I figured I would finish school and, perhaps college, and then go to work at whatever job I could find. I had no chosen career or goals. I really hadn’t thought about it. I vacillated between several possible careers. I was going to be a television director. Or maybe a history teacher. I really had no direction, just thoughts.

Well, I wrote that assignment in about twenty minutes at my job that afternoon after school. I turned it in and forgot about it. I was in class several days later when the student teacher, Mr. Raeburn, started handing out the graded homework. He came to me and put the paper on my desk and held it there with his finger. A++. I looked up at him and he said that that was the best paper he had ever read written by a high school student. I was flabbergasted. My friends sitting around me were all straining to see my paper. I read the paper again. Really? The best? Wow. Thanks.

I passed my paper around to my friends and they all said, "way to go Dave." I really did not know what to make of it. In the following weeks word go around school that I was quite the writer. My teacher, Mrs. Rovaris, not the student teacher, took to telling her other classes that I was one of the best writers that she had. She mentioned my name to her other classes. I entered essay contests and even wrote a few short stories but none of them ever won anything or was accepted for publication. I never amounted to much in high school.

But those words, the best, still stick with me. And what those teachers did for me is really a tremendous thing. They saved me from a life of hopelessness and actually gave me the power to take control of my own life. The fact that it has been 30 years for me to start writing on a regular basis is really not their fault. They planted the seed and for some it is a slow germinating plant. Who knows what type of fruit it will bear.

Also, several years later I attended the University of New Orleans and my first English teacher that first semester there was the student teacher I had in high school, Mr. Raeburn. Just a coincidence. I think at that time he must have been disappointed that I wasn’t doing much with my writing. I got a good grade in the class but only one piece that I wrote was memorable and I seem to have lost it over the years.

My second semester was a different matter. I went through the entire semester doing the work and getting by. Our final exam was to write a letter to a friend explaining something that we knew about. I chose a topic that I had been researching for another class. I wrote an essay on Anarchy. I was impressed with it and copied it for my files. I should check to see if I still have it buried away somewhere. I only mention that because this was another amazing event in my writing life. I turned the paper in and went about my merry way thinking no more about it except for grades and such. Credentials, that is all I cared about.

Then, next semester, quite by chance, I was walking across campus when my English professor from the previous semester was coming directly towards me. We made eye contact and we exchanged "Hellos". And we continued walking. He got about twenty feet away from me and turned around. "Hey," he yelled. I turned around. "That essay you wrote for the final exam was just about the best I ever read by a freshman." I was shocked. I was at a loss for words. I thanked him rather weakly. But inside I was astounded. I was flabbergasted again. Somebody was trying to tell me something. And it has taken me 30 years to figure it out.

I want to thank those teachers. Mr. Raeburn, Mrs. Rovaris, my poetry teacher Mr. Merriman, and that forgotten professor, who over those formative years gave me the courage to have this goal, this dream. I thank you.

At last I would like to add a poem here, a limerick actually. This was told to me by Mr. Merriman. It has a familiar title and I have never forgotten it. It says a lot about perception to those who are willing to look. Keep an open mind. Here it is:

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a bucket.
His daughter named Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the cash, Nan tuck it.

Thanks for listening.
David.