Just read another excellent column by Theresa Vargas who writes for the Washington Post. She reflected on the virus fear that surrounds us all, its actual and potential impact on her family, and the fact that she has yet to write a will. I know Theresa well because I was blessed to have her as a student, and not at all surprised she was more concerned for others today, a selflessness I much appreciated when she was an effervescent teenager out to save the world. As far as her heart goes, she obviously hasn’t changed a bit, and has grown into an adult worthy of emulation. Even during dark times like this I know America has a bright future because we have people like Theresa in it who will see us through to the other side.
The biggest problem I had with Theresa when we spent much time together in the 90s was remembering she was still an adolescent and not a colleague. She was far from the only student who provided this difficulty. Through chance and just good fortune, I found myself surrounded by a group of teenagers at Highlands High School who were so bright, introspective and caring I’d often forget myself and speak unguardedly as I would to an adult. I did this because these young people were so often far superior in every way from many of us (me, for one) and able to understand and reason on levels I still find amazing.
I’ve long thought a common trait of inferior teachers is an inability to accept and appreciate students who are simply better than they are in many respects. Some teachers are frightened by superior intelligence and consequently fearful, and this fear severely limits the ability to interact and teach bright and most challenging students. While I have innumerable flaws, as a teacher and human, fear of my superiors is not one of them. Just ask any principal I worked for if you don’t believe me.
My basic nature is to probe superior intelligence as I would almost anything I find fascinating, wanting to discover the unknown and learn from it. As a result, I can say in my retirement that my students taught me as much as I taught them. What follows is but one lesson of hundreds I could cite, one where Theresa played teacher.
I faced a most difficult problem one spring. Each year I organized an awards banquet for members of the yearbook and newspaper staff, an event all of us looked forward to and enjoyed. The only qualification was to be an active journalism staff member.
Unfortunately, two of my best students were in conflict around the same time, the reasons I’ve long forgotten. Although I tried to resolve the problem, I failed, even after losing what seemed almost a week’s worth of sleep staring up at my dark ceiling around midnight and beyond, hoping for some sort of divine revelation. It didn’t come, or maybe it did, in human form, as God often works.
As the result of the unresolved conflict, one of my star students quit the program. Anyone who has ever been something like a coach knows how painful this can be not just for the student but also the teacher. Thankfully, I’ve never been divorced, but I think the feeling somewhat similar, a loss of a special relationship that prompts all sorts of emotions, many not particularly good and often quite blinding, as this one was for me.
While planning the awards event with my student leaders, someone asked if the girl who had just quit the program would be invited to the banquet. It seemed an easy question and I had a quick answer, no. The student quit on her own volition, and no longer a staff member, and since the event was for staff members only, I thought she should not be invited.
Although I don’t remember the words, I do very much remember Theresa’s face and posture, part pleading, part resolution, all focused on getting a message across: the former staff member made major contributions all year long and and I should reconsider not inviting her. I did, and it remains one of the best decisions of my teaching career, one that I would have never made had it not been for Theresa’s intervention. She probably had help in this regard too as it would be typical and fit a pattern I often saw with my student newspaper and yearbook staff. They would sort of gang up on me, although in a most respectful and kindly way, to make their group opinion known, the posse often circling my desk until I listened to superior reasoning.
I may have helped some to bring about this condition as I’d long known that letting students make important decisions with only my guidance and without mandate facilitated better decision making and greater ownership of the result. For another good example, each year the student editors met to select the following year’s staff positions. I retained veto power, but never used it. I almost did once when my students selected a yearbook editor I thought entirely incapable and destined for failure. For the record, and further evidence of superior group reasoning, the girl my students selected did a terrific job and would have never had the opportunity had it not been for their collective wisdom.
While I know the girl accepted the invitation and attended the banquet, I retain no other memory of that evening. It’s what happened two years later I recall vividly as I still possess the two-page letter I found on my deck.
In the handwritten letter, the young lady I almost excluded explained she came back to thank me personally, but I had stepped out of my room for some reason when she visited right after school. The letter I found on my return was so powerful I cried, but these were tears of joy. Like a lot of my journalism students, the girl wrote creatively with deep emotion, a great gift to me I wouldn’t have now had it not been for Theresa and her coconspirators.
I have no idea how many students I’ve taught, I’m sure it’s well into four figures, but I only remember one student birthday, Theresa’s, because it falls on April Fools. I kidded her about this a few times, finding it highly ironic as there are so many others far more fitting the date. I’m tempted to name a few, but think it’s best I don’t.
I do very much want to say “Happy Birthday, Theresa!” This old fool wishes you many, many more. You’re right, as you usually are, someone will be there for you in times of need, if you let them and just listen.
Awesome testimony