10 Times My Teachers Impacted Me Beyond The Classroom

1. When I was in second grade, my teacher had set up a "store" in her classroom. She handed out fake money to us when we behaved well and punished bad behavior by taking it away. Every so often she'd set out the bins with items we could purchase using the money we had saved up. At the end of the year, we were encouraged to spend the last of our money on whatever we could buy - but I didn't want anything. I didn't want anything, but I had saved about $2,000 and when I handed all my extra fake bills to her on the last day, she looked at me like I was out of my mind. The truth was, I didn't need anything or expect to get anything out of all the money I had saved up. I had just done what was expected of me as a student, and even at 7 or 8 years old I didn't think that required a reward. But that day stuck with me, because my teacher went above and beyond. She fumbled around in her desk for a while before pulling out a large bag of M&M's and handing me the whole thing. 

"Here," she said. "I still would like you to have something." I think I learned more in that day and in that interaction than I had academically that entire year - and I am forever grateful for it. 

2. When I was in first grade, my teacher had one of her older sons come in and spend an afternoon reading to our class. He read, "Junie B. Jones Is Not a Crook," and I remember that well because it was one of my all-time favorites. I was used to my mom reading a chapter or two at a time of all the books in that series to me before bed each night, but that afternoon her son read the entire book without stopping. My mom and I laugh to this day about how excited I was about that then, because when I came home from school that evening I couldn't stop talking about it. I think about that day a lot, still, and about the day my teacher went along with my mom and I when Junie B. Jones came to Wichita. We laughed through the whole show in the middle of a bookstore, and I've graduated college since but it's still one of my earliest, greatest memories. 

3. Again when I was in second grade, several teachers and the school librarian called me out of class for a few minutes to talk to me and I remember being terrified that I had done something wrong. Instead, they handed me an entry form for an elementary student poetry contest. "We think you'd be great for this," my teacher told me. "You write well, and this would be a great thing for you." 

My confidence as a person and as a writer wasn't where I wanted it to be yet, and I wasn't sure how I felt about competing. I hate to lose, and at that age I even hated risking it - but they talked me into it and I ended up winning. I was eight years old when I had my first piece of poetry published in a book, and it was because of the teachers who saw me and believed in me. I felt like so much more to them in that moment than a name in a grade book, and the whole experience taught me a lot that I wouldn't have learned by sitting at my desk practicing long division. I've said it before and I'll say it again and again and again - teachers don't get paid nearly enough. 

4. Fifth grade was a personal turning point in my life because that was when I really started to feel seen and recognized for what I was capable of. I remember my teacher encouraging me to get out of the classroom in the afternoons, signing a pass every day for me to spend a few hours in the library reading whatever I wanted. I remember her pairing me up with a first grader named Hope, and the two of us bonding while I helped her with her projects and she helped me feel needed. I remember that same teacher letting me help tear down her classroom when the school year ended and inviting me back to come visit several times the following years. I remember her texting me happy birthday even after I had started college. I remember so much about that year and that teacher, even now, that I definitely didn't see coming when I was in Walmart buying school supplies the morning before that summer ended. 

5. In seventh grade I got my first C on a progress report and I cried at the parent-teacher conference when I found that out. I was doing okay with everything except math. Middle school was a mess for me - it was the first time I was balancing my academic life with my mental illness. But I hadn't told anybody about that yet. At 12 I didn't know how to talk about it, so I think I just tried my best to cover it up but seeing that C destroyed me. I was an A kid, I knew I could do better than that. But I don't think I could have had it not been for the people who had my back. My teacher agreed to open her classroom after hours so she could help me 1-on-1. I don't know how many extra hours she put in just for me, but it was a lot. My best friend even came along several of those days even though she didn't need the extra help- just to be there for me. And when it was time to go, our teacher would walk with us out to the parking lot to be sure our rides were there to pick us up. Again, teachers don't get paid anywhere close to enough. 

6. Seventh grade was also where my interest in writing and journalism was stimulated. My teacher assigned a project I had been waiting for. We needed to interview someone who had lived through the Great Depression and write a paper about the experience. When I told my mom about the task, she got me in touch with someone and drove me to the woman's office the next day. She bought me a voice recorder and a clipboard so I could take notes without having to worry about writing everything down. About halfway through the interview with that lady, I noticed I had stopped taking notes all together. I had gotten invested in her stories and the way she told them - I wanted to do them justice when I wrote my paper. So I went beyond the page minimum, turned it in early, and when my teacher handed them back a couple weeks later, she pulled me aside. 

"Do you mind if I keep yours a little longer?" she asked. "I just need to make a copy. I want to use yours as an example for the next time I have students do this." 

For the first time as a writer I felt seen, and I was so grateful to have gotten to do what I loved for a grade. That day changed my life. 

7. When I got to high school, I signed up for an Intro to 21st Century Journalism class to fill an exploratory requirement. It was my first hour class that first semester, which meant that for the first time in my life I looked forward to making it to school by 8 a.m. I've talked about this a lot in blog posts ever since, but that class was where I was assigned to create blog content and that's where I fell in love with writing. I stayed in journalism all four years of high school, building relationships with people who shared that interest and growing as a person with each story. Year 2 came around and I got to be on the yearbook staff. Year 3 they talked me into working for the student newspaper, and when my senior year came around I couldn't decide which I wanted to do so THEY LET ME WORK FOR BOTH. I'm not pursuing journalism as a career, but it holds a special place in my heart and it brought so many incredible people into my life that I'll look back on fondly forever. Room E144 was my safe place, where I spent lunch hours writing and having conversations with friends who worked by my side. When I was getting ready to graduate high school, both staffs and our advisor went out to dinner at Il Vicino where we laughed, cried, hugged a lot and said goodbye. The friend I had met my first day on staff stood up and spoke about me, wishing me luck in college and reminding me of the fun times we had had together... like getting on a bus to KU at 5 a.m. for competition and all the ways we had almost driven ourselves crazy on assignments. That teacher has followed up with me ever since, asking where I'm off to next and how my life is going. And it's funny because when she does, so many memories come back. The way she'd mark through my drafts with her purple pen, food Fridays, the time she handed me a camera and said, "Just go get some pictures, I trust you." The way she rolled her eyes at me when I missed a deadline check, the way she'd ask if I was okay when I was quiet, the day we all climbed up to the roof in caps and gowns for senior staff photos. The everything. I hated high school for the most part, but I loved every minute of journalism classes and I still think about it all the time. I still miss it. 

8. My sophomore year I dropped out of the IB program at my high school due to issues (again) with my mental health. I was pretty content with my decision to drop, knowing I'd be okay in AP courses, but I remember crying to my parents that AP was going to suck because I wasn't going to get my chance to be in Mr. Maack's class. That may be one of the only things I've been thrilled to have been wrong about. My senior year I designed my schedule specifically to ensure that I could be in his AP Literature class, and that's been one of my best memories since. For the first time, as students we had at least some say in what we'd read. I chose Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment. I think I almost gave my mom a heart attack when I told her that, and she went as far as to tell me I'd hate it. I didn't. I read it in three days, more or less. I couldn't put it down, and that was the start of getting to school an hour early from then on just to sit in the hallway and read with no interruptions. That entire year, if you saw me, chances are my nose was buried in a book. After that, when I'd get to class early, there were several times when he'd ask me what book I was reading now and how I felt about it. That class, that opportunity, that whole experience was something that's still with me. I didn't read for fun before that. I didn't think there was such a thing. But time and time again, I sat in class discussions about nothing but books, dreading the bell that signaled the end of the period. For the first time, people would ask me about my books and I wouldn't be able to shut up. Grateful is an understatement. I genuinely don't know where I'd be had it not been for all of that. 

9. My junior year of high school, and I'll NEVER forget this - I was sitting at a 33% in Chemistry. Failing. I hated myself for it. I was scared. I was ready to give up. But it was early in the year, and once again I got lucky enough to have a teacher who stepped up. She spent every lunch hour with me, working out problems with me 1-on-1 using whiteboards so mistakes could be easily erased and done over. She moved me to her Ace Time class so I could get an extra hour of help each week. She'd stay late with me on days leading up to exams so I could go over specific questions with her right there next to me. She gave me passes to come in early so I could get extra time to work when I needed to. By the end of the year, with her help, I had raised my grade to a B. I mean it when I say I could not have done that without her. And it would've been so easy for her to just tell me to study harder or to be more careful when I took tests but she didn't. She cared enough to do whatever it took to help me be successful, and that taught me so much about so many things. Work ethic, community, passion, humanity, everything. A lot of which I wouldn't have learned the way I did if I had been making A's from the beginning. 

10. Public speaking was one of my biggest fears for most of my life, but that changed when I was required to take a public speaking course my senior year. My speaking coach at the time pretty much always left the topics of our speeches up to us, which calmed my nerves because speaking about things I was passionate about was so much easier and so much more enjoyable than I'd anticipated. She would always smile at me from the back of the room when I'd speak, and for every critique she'd give me she'd also point out one or more things I did well. I appreciated that, because even when I didn't do as well as I'd hoped, she helped me to look on the bright side instead of just dwelling on my mistakes. She taught me so much about self-improvement and about how important confidence is that by the end of the year I was volunteering to speak first. I was excited to speak instead of sitting there anxiously wondering if what I'd prepared was going to be good enough. And then even after I had graduated, she found my blog through Facebook and messaged me with the following. I've kept it in my inbox ever since, to look back on whenever I doubt my own abilities. 

"If you do not grow up and become a writer, the world will lose a great mind and a great thinker. Of course, I knew this from your speeches last semester also." 

That was four and a half years ago now, and I still think about that whenever I get up to speak or present anything. That was at the end of my high school years, and now college is something I've checked off my list. 

This is the longest "thank you," I've ever written - but it doesn't even make a dent. It doesn't even begin to describe how much of an impact so many of my teachers have had on me. I can not adequately sum up everything they've done for me and chances are they will never understand the difference they've made. 

But I hope they'll realize it someday. 

thank you.

thank you.

thank you.