As I thought about what to write for Thanksgiving this year, I looked back through some prior years and realized that I have written about the same five teachers pretty frequently. One day, I was telling a story about my chemistry teacher and realized that I have never written about her on this blog.
There’s a good reason that I haven’t. She wasn’t one of “those teachers.” I didn’t have particularly strong emotional attachments to her. She didn’t open my eyes to the wonderful world of chemistry. There are only about three things that I can specifically remember learning from her. Nevertheless, the story I was telling my colleague made me realize that she is responsible for changing the trajectory of my life, and I am thankful. Let me explain.
The high school I went to had a well thought out plan for registration in classes for the following year. You were required to have a conversation with your current teacher about the next level course you wanted to take in their discipline, and they were required to sign off on your choice. A student in 10th grade English could not simply decide they wanted to take AP Lang the next year or go to the office and enroll in honors. The teacher had to sign your registration card (This was before there was an internet - I mean, there was one, but it wasn’t yet used by normal people). If you or your parents wanted to override the teacher’s advice, there was a procedure for that, but it meant that you were not allowed to drop the class once having overridden the judgement of the professional. This process made everyone take their choices and their decision to override advice very seriously.
Having finished Chemistry, I had several options about which science to take next. I had decided not to take AP courses, saying I would wait until I was in college to be in college, thank you. Back then, no one would have pressured anyone into an AP course, and colleges were not yet using them for admissions. I wasn’t particularly interested in life sciences or earth science, which left me with two options, regular and honors physics. Not knowing much about physics, it sounded a little scary (and the regular level teacher was incredibly attractive - I was a high school girl; cut me some slack), so I chose regular physics. When I sat down with Mrs. Demby, she said, “No. You should take honors physics.” I attempted to argue for a minute, but she said, “I will not sign your card unless you sign up for honors.” I was an extremely cooperative teenager and believed strongly in the judgment of teachers (Yes, I was annoying to my classmates), so I complied and would never have dreamed of going through the override process.
When I got my schedule during the summer, my honors physics teacher was listed as Jim Barbara. My brother had been in his class two years earlier. He said, “You’ll like him. He’s kind of crazy.”
If you don’t know my brother, it would be hard for you to fathom what a ringing endorsement those two sentences were. My brother did not like teachers. They loved him, but it was rarely mutual. In the dividing up of our genetic material, I got all of the enthusiasm for school, love for authority figures, and faith in the judgement of experts. He had none of that, so teachers were mostly necessary annoyances to him. If he said a teacher was good, that meant most students would find them amazing. In fact, I’ve only ever heard him say that about one other teacher.
So, I started my senior year in honors physics with my brother’s endorsement of Mr. Barbara and Mrs Demby’s belief that I would do well. About four days into the school year, I realized that I not only liked physics; I adored it. I found out that math wasn’t just math. It expressed relationships between aspects of the world. Mr. Barbara was, in fact, a little crazy - in the best possible way. I believe he would have stood on his head if he thought it would help us to learn better.
I’ve written about Mr. Barbara many times before, so I don’t want to focus on his role in my life. You can read previous posts for that. What I realized recently was that I would not have been in Mr. Barbara’s class if Mrs. Demby had not been willing to say, “I won’t sign your registration form if you put regular.” She didn’t want me to take the easy way out. She may have even known that part of any girl’s motivation was having the good looking teacher. Whatever she knew, her willingness to insist that her judgment was better than mine put me on a path I might not have otherwise been on.
I haven’t seen Mrs. Demby since I graduated. I’m not even sure I saw her during my senior year because I didn’t have any classes on her floor. I don’t even know if she is still alive, so I cannot ask if she remembers this. If I had to guess, I would imagine that she has no memory of this conversation. She had similar conversations with every student every year. As a teacher, I don’t have specific memories of these conversations for more than a few days (except for the times when they override my advice and it goes poorly). The conversation that changed the direction of my life was likely the most mundane conversation she had that week.
The other physics teacher at my school said that one of her inspirations for majoring in physics in college was a video her high school physics teacher showed. While it is possible that teacher had chosen that video very carefully because he believed it to be powerful, it is also likely that he was just tired that day and chose to show a video rather than teach (come on, now, we’ve all done it). Either way, it sparked her interest in the world of physics. These stories make me think about the power we have as teachers. What conversation do I not remember having with a student that has stuck with them for years? What did I do or say in class that changed a student? Was it a good change or a bad change? I speak hundreds of thousands of words each day. Each one of them has some degree of impact on my students. Some are minimally impactful, carrying influence for only a few minutes. Others may change the path of a students’ life in a way I will never know. This is why the Bible gives a strong warning In James 3:1 that “not many should presume to be teachers because they will be judged more harshly.” While it is referring to those who teach the Scripture, I believe the principle applies to all teaching because of the potential we have to build up or tear down.
While I thank God for Mrs. Demby’s insistence that I take a higher level class, I also pause to pray that God gives me wisdom as I have similar discussions with my own students. As far as I know, Mrs. Demby did not believe in God. It's possible that my friend's teacher didn't either. That'd didn't stop God from using them. Surely as people whose mission is to spiritually equip, challenge, and inspire students, he can use us in similar ways.
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