is the title of this op ed by Pulitzer Winner Kathleen Parker in today's Washington Post It is, as she says, about a teacher who
was mine for only three months, but he changed my life in a flicker of light. I thought of him Monday when -- if you'll grant me this small indulgence -- I was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for commentary.
The column is written in an additional context, with which she begins:
One of President Obama's consistent education themes has been the wish that every child cross paths with that one teacher who hits the light switch and changes one's life.
The column is so well written that I will make no attempt to summarize it, and will ask that before you continue below the fold, you take the time to read the entire thing, to learn about Mr. Gasque, who taught in Columbia SC, because I will quote from the end, and I do not wish to spoil your enjoyment of this magnificent piece.
In my last diary, I quoted from Henry Adams,
A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.
That diary was a meditation on that theme. That meditation was also written in the context of having won an award, in my case not for writing - I am not that skilled - but for teaching. While I considered the impact teachers had had upon me, I wrote from the perspective of one who was viewing through the lens of the teacher and the responsibility we can - and should - feel towards those in our care, knowing the kind of impact we can have, for good or ill, towards them, as the words of Henry Adams indicate.
Parker writes from the perspective of one student, at a critical moment in her own adolescent life, where the words of one teacher had a crucial impact. That is reflected in a couple of the lines she offers. She begins one critical paragraph with
It is not possible to describe my gratitude.
She concludes it
I started that day to try to write as well as he said I could. I am still trying.
Because she was affirmed, she attempt to live up to the hope and trust that teacher had placed upon her. As teachers we should be aware of the potential in all of our students, we should be willing to affirm them when they struggle, even as we may need to challenge them when they are lazy, willing to settle for the easy expression, or unwilling even to try.
Unwilling even to try ... perhaps because they have experienced something that discouraged them, or they struggled. It does not matter, we still have an obligation to affirm whatever it is we can see in them. Here I again refer to the late John Davison at Haverford College, himself a gifted composer, who taught beginning composition. Every student would hear John perform his composition exercises, and then hear John speak - no matter how jejune or weak the piece John would find something to affirm so that student would not give up. As one of the more gifted musicians in the College I could have exempted that course. I am glad I did not. Too often for those of us to whom things come easily we are unaware of the struggles others may have with similar tasks. As a teacher I need to understand those struggles if I am going to be able to fulfill my responsibility to such students. I learned more about teaching in watching John Davison than I did in any of my coursework or reading on pedagogy. Or perhaps better, the theory in the coursework and reading was better understandable and applicable in the context of having experienced the loving instruction of John Davison.
I may not agree with the political orientation of Kathleen Parker, but I do not deny that she is a skillful and graceful writer. Anyone who might have entertained doubts about her Pulitzer should be persuaded about the quality of her writing after having read this piece.
There is for me as a teacher another takeaway. It is the reminder of how deep an impact we may have after only a brief time with a student. One of the emails I received after my award had the subject line "You probably don't remember me, but..." from a young lady named Christa. When I returned to my current school after a year away, I taught World History for one semester until someone left in midyear, and I moved back to Government. Christa was in that World History class, from late August through January. She wrote
I was really happy to hear that they had chosen such an excellent teacher for the award. You will always be one of my favorite teachers, and I hope you’re enjoying everything you do.
The email reminded me of how deep the impact we have on others can be even if our connection with them is relatively brief.
Parker writes about the impact of one moment, of her desire to live up to the high praise she was given by Mr. Gasque at a moment of crisis" "She can out-write every one of you any day of the week." She shares how he made the subject matter come alive for her, kindling a flame that was essential for her to reach the peaks of winning a Pulitzer.
If you have not read the entire column, shame on you. Go back and do it. And if you read too quickly, then perhaps the ending did not have on you the impact it did on me.
Parker's ending is something that any teacher would cherish.
A couple of decades later, having moved back to South Carolina, I went looking for Mr. Gasque, toting a pot of verbena. He didn't remember me, but upon hearing my tale, he asked that I speak to his class. Afterward, his cheeks streaked with tears, he presented me with two lined pieces of notebook paper -- my essay on "The Unvanquished."
Obama is right about the power of teachers. Thank you, Mr. Gasque.
I could not return an old piece of work, because in most cases I return all work. Occasionally I will make a copy, or if asked to write a college or scholarship recommendation may ask to again see some work done for me so that I can refer to it. I have asked former students when they stop by to briefly speak to my classes.
The stopping by is always a thrill. So are the direct expressions of appreciation.
Obama is right about the power of teachers. Thank you, Mr. Gasque.
All we can ask from our students is that they believe in themselves, that they try. We may not be their perfect guide, but we similarly have to believe in them, to pick them up when they fall.
And the greatest gift, other than our seeing them develop and blossom, which they can give us back is the simply expression with which Parker ends, thank you
Peace.