When I was 13, and I’d just about given up on not only ever enjoying school life, but also having confidence in my learning ability-a new English teacher, came to my school.
Knowing how horrid the girls in my school could be, I tried my hardest to make him feel welcome. I was one of the first people to speak to him, and, three years later, when I was leaving, he reminded me of my kindness in my leavers book.
Not only did he remind me of a quality in myself I may have otherwise forgotten, our relationship had given me back my thirst for learning, and my confidence in my own abilities.
For once, when he arrived, I didn’t dread my entire day at school-instead looking forward to a lesson I knew I was good at.
The day I left, and the weeks (and years) following the end of school-I read and read that message he’d written in my leavers book. I knew it was heartfelt and that I was lucky to have been taught by such an amazing teacher.
17 years later, and with children of my own-that teacher has never been far from my thoughts. I have always hoped, that my son, currently in year 2, would have someone like that teaching him-to set him on the right path and encourage him to see his strengths.
My hope was rewarded, when, last year he was given a teacher that was all of the things I’d hoped for, and more.
From the day he began in her class, I felt the happiness from him when he would get up for school and the excitement to go back each day.
He constantly talked about the lessons he took, the merit he was given by her for doing well-and he constantly had this energy about him-wanting to go to school and learn-to impress us and her.
She pushed him to the best of his ability, never stopping him so that others could catch up. She prepared him for the whole of that year with her in just a few weeks, and he thrived.
My relationship with her, because of her relationship with my son, came easy-often you’d hear me discussing her with other children’s parents from other classes, about how, in an alternate universe (one where she wasn’t my child’s teacher with the rules and regulations that come with teaching) we’d be friends.
The same age, the same interests-it really was a shame, on a personal selfish level that he was her pupil. (I mean she may not have agreed but still….).
Regardless-the day came when it was time to leave her class-and to say we were upset would be an understatement.
Kye cried for the majority of the week following the last day.
I waited until he’d gone to bed-then let my tears fall-broken by my child’s heartache.
It wasn’t that I was sad to leave her class (I mean for kye to….), more that I knew no teacher would ever match up to her.
I was and still am so very thankful to her-she moulded my son into the boy he was that year-she gave him confidence in himself that I’d never seen before-and he was truly happy. Every single day.
Teachers like my old English teacher, and Kyes year 1 teacher are few and far between nowadays.
And those that are like them, don’t often get the recognition they deserve.
So, if the above words didn’t say it enough;
Mr Rosedon and Mrs Wheeler, thank you. Thank you for being our guiding lights, in a world where there were, and still are, very few.