I reached out to a teacher I haven’t spoken to in 29 years. Earlier this month, there was finally a worthwhile inclusion in the plastic shopping bag full of curiosities which have a loose connection to me that my mom found in her house that week . There, amongst yogurt coupons, mail from vendors who think I didn’t move out 15 years ago, cancelled stamps for my “collection”, and a Zippy the Chimp 16mm video I’d never seen in my life, I found my class photo from fourth grade. You know the one, tripod that seems to have been set up by a drunk photographer, often just a tad blurry, with tall gangly kids on a plank in the back, more attractive children on chairs in the front, and a couple of leftovers cross-legged on the floor, flanking the letterboard indicating the class name. And always with the teacher standing just to the left, dwarfing the seated students, and as tall as the platform kids out back.
I started to think about that teacher
As any modern recipient of such a gift would do, I immediately scanned a high-resolution .jpg and posted it to Facebook. The tags and comments started to flood in, and I was very happy to share fond memories with those fellow former students who’d shared that space with me, nearly three decades ago. But, this time, unlike similar photos I’d posted from my second grade class, and two of my little league teams, this time I started to think about that teacher, and wondered if he were still in the game. We were a fortunate lot, meeting up with him on his first year as a full-time teacher, and I remember him well. The goodness he showed us everyday, teaching us to take care of each other and care for everyone equally. The compassion he’d shown me when a glancing blow on the playground had resulted in a black eye.
So, I sought him out, first sifting through like-named members on LinkedIn, and then, duh, straight to the source, his class website, still at the same school district, all these years later.
I emailed him yesterday, knowing he’d be in school (teachers don’t get to check email during the day, do they?), and wondered if he might reply. In these situations, I’m always hypersensitive to the awkwardness of the situation, often self-deprecatingly describing myself in great detail, aware that there is a strong chance I have gone unremembered. In this case, though, I had something that would help jostle his memory, that photo which preserved me in my little boy state, the one in which he last saw me. I mentioned where I was in the picture, adding, “all in blue, with the sizeable cuff on my jeans”. I wrote what that year had meant to me, and how the resurrected photo had stirred those feelings back to mind. And, off that email went.
A Completely Accurate Vision
I honestly did not expect what followed. Just a few hours later, a reply not from a bot: “email address discontinued”, or the like, but from my teacher himself. Email didn’t exist the last time I spoke to him, but here we were, conversing in this “new” medium like old friends. I read the message, excited to see what he’d say. He gave me several paragraphs, that I could tell straightaway. Not just humoring me, very nice. And now it’s time to read the message– Oh my goodness, he actually remembers me. This is what I never would’ve expected. And, not just that he recognized me, but he actually seemed to have a vision of me which was completely accurate, indicating that after some 700 students he has mentored, I was one that might have meant as much to him as he had meant to me.
Maybe that first class is burned more permanently in his mind. Maybe my prodigious knack for sarcasm made me more of a handful than he let on (a poor memory is still a memory!). But no, in that moment, he still was encouraging me, and I felt that I really was known. By that, I was astonished.
Think of all the one-to-many relationships in your life, for which you are one of the “many”. Would you recognize your dentist at the grocery store? Of course you would, because that is one of a few dozen service providers you see on a (hopefully not too) regular basis. But, do you expect that your dentist will recognize you when you show up in her office. Possibly not, she’s probably got hundreds of patients on her roster. You might feel slighted, but if you put it into perspective, you’ll feel a little better about it. Surely she doesn’t mean anything by it.
Teacher is one such one-to-many relationship. By my estimate, a teacher will see some 300 students in the time it takes one kid to go from kindergarten to graduation. Meanwhile that student has probably only had to work with some 30-40 teachers, at most. Yet, we still have a hope, a desire to be remembered.
Desire to Be Known
I jokingly mentioned earlier that being obnoxious will land you in someone’s memory. While this is true, it’s more a guarantee of remembrance of how you left them feeling. One of my fondest memories of a student employee is a student I had over five years ago, she was very quiet, but sincere and a hard worker. I remember her far better than those who have used me for an advantage, or carried and entitled attitude.
It makes me wonder, though, what is the best way to leave a positive lasting impression on those we encounter. Obviously it’s not by being an obnoxious jerk. But I’m not entirely sure that going the complete opposite path is substantially better. Over-the-top kindnesses can lead to being obnoxious to the same degree! I have found that, for me, at least, it’s the honest, ethical, kind-hearted souls that carve the most long-lasting impressions on me.
Also this week, I dug up email addresses to 99 students and staff who have worked under my current boss in the last seven or so years. Mostly student employees, but a fair number of “alumni” staff as well, who have moved on to other jobs in the recent years. I initiated a group card for his birthday, and threw it out to all these people to sign it. Nearly 70 responded in the short time-frame, and all wrote full sentences of appreciation to him, not simply “Happy Birthday”. Of course, this speaks to his popularity and the appreciation they felt for his mentorship and guidance in the time they had spent with him. It also spoke volumes for me, this exercise of finding all these addresses, for I came to realize that, having worked alongside these 99, myself, there were those who had made no impression on me at all, and those who, through their kindness and cheerful spirit will always be considered a part of our family. May I seek ever-stronger ways to be the one that’s known.