Photo taken in Oslo, Norway
Rare Gems
I must admit that while I believe in the value of certain childlike qualities, I would never in a million years have any desire to go back to such a time. Don’t get me wrong; there are plenty of wonderful things worth appreciating about the days of our youth.
I mean, how many adults would detest the idea of traveling back to a simpler life filled with home-cooked meals, afternoon naps, leisurely breaks, and more? I’d hardly be surprised at the large number of those more than willing to jump at the chance of dropping the weight of their responsibilities in a single go.
But as I said, it’s not the kind of journey I see myself signing up for. The truth is, I remember how hard it was.
Needless to say, I doubt any kid could go through such a trying coming-of-age period without enduring some form of trauma. Life is rough enough as it is, and even more so for those yet to encounter challenge after challenge with zero tools, familiarity, or insights to work with.
In my experience, however, I’d say the hardest part was the lack of freedom. Of course, this limitation is not so unreasonable given the natural concern for a child’s physical safety.
But I mean freedom in the sense of autonomy. As a kid, you couldn’t just leave whenever you wanted, even mentally, in some cases.
Instead, your only choice was to suffer silently and practice patience. For me, this was especially hard in certain classes and in the midst of absolute boredom, a tormenting dullness brought on by such an authority figure with the seemingly sole aim of sucking the joy out of you.
It was torture. But what could a child do about it, register for a different class under a more suitable replacement? This wasn’t college after all.
Like many things in life, whoever you end up spending the majority of your time with in school is up to chance. Sometimes you’re lucky. Sometimes you’re not.
Of course, you don’t know exactly how this affects you in the long run. You can’t understand the difference between a class led by someone merely putting in the hours of their contract and someone with a genuine desire to help you understand.
Thankfully, in time, you learn soon enough. If you’re really lucky, you come across those rare gems, the ones with the power to knock some life into you, so much so that just the mere thought of them stays with you forever.
The Ones that Cared
As children, it’s not easy to tell what kind of energy you’ve stepped into, nor can you simply remove yourself from a situation, especially when it comes to school rules. Sometimes you run into chaos in the form of bullying antics from classmates and even grown-ups alike.
Now and then, however, you might walk into a space so special that, upon entering, it almost feels like taking a long sigh of relief. Sometimes, these kinds of spaces feel warm and hopeful, but it has nothing to do with the chosen layout or contents of the room.
What makes it light and one of a kind is the very presence leading the exchange among every individual in the group. I am talking about the teachers we were lucky to have; the ones who paved the way forward for us because they cared.
They were the ones who were consistent in the way they showed up, their attentiveness and authenticity always shining through, leading others to respect and admire them as shining members in their communities.
This gets me thinking about one of my favorite films of all time, Dead Poets Society, which explores the significance of self-expression, individuality, and following your passion. In it, Robin Williams plays John Keating, a newly appointed teacher who breaks tradition at a highly conservative boarding school with his unorthodox teaching methods to reach out and connect with his students.
With lessons focused on going against the grain, fighting conformity, and breaking free from rigid thinking, the character successfully gets through to the boys, all of whom are facing enormous pressure.
I cry every time I watch it; I can’t help it. In one scene, Professor John Keating stands on top of a desk to visually illustrate his message of the need to always look at things from another point of view.
You can always tell when you are fortunate enough to be around these kinds of educators. They are inspiring.
Their dedication to their work and invitation to engage promotes a love of learning, which in turn, brings about a sense of motivation that we can use in the real world. In Anne with an E, Anne expresses her support for the beloved teacher, Ms. Stacy, while quoting the words of Benjamin Franklin, who once wrote:
“Tell me, and I forget. Teach me, and I remember. Involve me, and I learn.”
Leaving a Mark
I think one of the gifts of having a good teacher is the way they make you feel seen. When you’re just starting out as a kid, learning and absorbing everything around you, it’s helpful to hear someone older offer words of encouragement about recognizing your value, your worth, your voice.
In a lot of ways, these guiding figures can take the form of our very first role models, shaping our understanding and opening up our minds about the world, our global culture, and our identities in it. For some of us, they represent our original moments of validation, particularly in certain interests and activities they initially suggested we pursue.
Is it possible that the very dreams, careers, and achievements we read about could be traced back to a specific moment within an ordinary classroom? Could it be a swift exchange, like the spark of a match, that ignites the fire in someone to go after the life of a businesswoman, a singer, or a writer?
Who knows the magnitude of a teacher’s impact over generations? But from the stories that come up about thought leaders giving thanks to regular folks in their primary or secondary schools, there seems to be some truth to it.
When you’re young and naive, unsure whether or not you have any potential at all, sometimes even just a few words of support are enough to get you going. Being seen and noticed can flip the broken script in our heads.
It leaves a mark, and in the long run, it makes a difference. In the movie, The Holdovers, Professor Paul Hunham turns to his student, Angus, and says:
“Because no one is his own father. I’m not my dad. No matter how hard he tried to beat that idea into me. I find the world a bitter and complicated place, and it seems to feel the same way about me. I think you and I have this in common. But don’t get me wrong, you have your challenges. You’re erratic and belligerent and a gigantic pain in the balls, but you’re not your father. You’re your own man. Man, no. You’re just a kid. You’re just beginning. And you’re smart. You’ve got time to turn things around. Yes I know the Greeks had the idea that the steps you take to avoid your fate are the very steps that lead you to it, but that’s just literary conceit. In real life, your history doesn’t have to dictate your destiny.”
O Captain. My Captain.
Perhaps one of the biggest takeaways of having a passionate teacher is that, however little time you spend with them, be it a year or several months, the simple fact is they’ve changed you.
Whether they managed to instill greater confidence, belief, or maturity in your abilities, the truth is that even with just the slightest improvement in any of these areas, you could hardly say that you’re the same version of yourself as you were before.
It goes without saying that the ones with the gift of teaching prepare their students for the kinds of challenges that come with adulthood. Lessons centered on finding your values, thinking for yourself, and speaking up for what’s right are incredibly important, especially during our childhood years.
It’s the kind of teaching we need, empowering us to feel more equipped at handling whatever obstacles come our way. It also introduces the meaning of integrity, an important foundation in any culture we belong and enables us to understand our civic duty and responsibility to our community at large.
With their supportive learning environment, they give us the space to take risks, practice courage, and embrace our mistakes, allowing us to see for ourselves how failure, learning, and the power of a growth mindset fit together.
To go back to Dead Poets Society, one of the best scenes happens when the shyest, most reserved character played by Ethan Hawke, Todd, stands on top of his desk, eyeing Mr. Keating as the professor leaves the classroom for the last time; a farewell salute and tribute to a beloved teacher who taught him to do the very thing he struggled with the most out of anyone in the class—he speaks up.
For even as Mr. Keating politely submits to the school’s dismissal of him, Todd leads the group in silent solidarity as they all follow him, standing above their desks in honor of the professor and in remembrance of the wisdom he once shared. In the scene, Keating’s stirring words come back to mind:
“I stand upon my desk to remind myself that we must constantly look at things in a different way.”
Like a Memory
While I have not been fortunate enough to find mentorship in someone exactly like Mr. Keating, certain individuals with that same genuine joy for teaching spring to mind. To this day, I see it in one of my English teachers who played music by The Beatles before our class prepared to write our essay of the week.
I see it in my sixth-grade math teacher, who added so much fun and playfulness to our lessons and approach to problem-solving. I see it in the best P.E. teacher I’ve ever had, who constantly showed up day after day with a positive attitude and mindset, always looking to see how he could lift any of his students up in even the smallest of ways.
We don’t always realize how little moments like these affect us in the long run. Maybe it’s too early to see the impact they’ve made on us.
But just the thought of those people and many more stay with me, and I am grateful. I am grateful because, though little did I know it at the time, their everyday presence was truly one of a kind and one that I have come to lean on over the years.
Maybe it’s crazy—the idea of tapping into positive energy you recall so well, like a memory. Maybe not.
After all, there’s a saying that’s been floating around for years and must be doing so for a reason. You know that idea, how you don’t always remember what someone said, but you always remember how that person made you feel?
That’s the idea I’m referring to, and in my experience, I think it’s true.
