For the most part, my boys have had magnificent teachers. Teachers don't get near the credit they deserve for molding generations to come.
My boys don't realize that when they are my age, looking back on school memories, they will remember the best teachers with fondness.
Mr. Smith, my Grade 10 English teacher, and Mr. Burgess, my Grade 12 Social Studies teachers are two that stick out in my mind for shaping me.
Mr. Burgess was fascinating. He made learning history anything but bland, at least to me. That was apparent when he was showing students their marks. One by one we went to his desk and he pointed to the mark beside our name.
I was sure he had made a mistake when I looked at mine. A nice, fat 100 per cent was typed next to my name. This girl's highest mark in Social Studies up until this point was 38 per cent. A 100, was fantastic, but unbelievable.
I'll take it!
Mr. Smith encouraged me to write. To dive into myself to find the words to pull, tug and draw out emotion in readers.
I cherish these two teachers for all they instilled in me. From them, I learned a love for words, for history, for the beauty of poetry and how to allow myself to feel everything deep enough to bleed.
Now, when I sit down to write, I make myself laugh or write through my tears, I write with the hope that others will laugh or cry with me.
I hope that my children have the same connection to at least one of their teachers in the future. One they can look back on their time in school and say "that teacher had a hand in driving me to do what I wanted to do."
"The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires." - William Arthur Ward