By NANCY PATRICK

September traditionally correlates to the beginning of new school years. The Sunday before school starts, my church recognizes teachers and other school personnel for their contributions to families as well as society in general. 

For many years, I proudly stood with my colleagues because I felt called to my teaching career—it didn’t seem like a job. I now sit and observe (a little emotionally) as those who followed me stand and commit themselves to the children who enter their classrooms.

I found my niche in life as an English teacher, and I had a long and wide-ranging career across the state of Texas. I started in 1972 at Eastern Hills High School in Fort Worth, teaching ninth grade English (grammar, composition, and literature). What a potpourri, not always sweet-smelling, of learning that was—not only for my students but for me as a young, inexperienced teacher.

Eastern Hills at that time practiced a new educational experience from California—the open space classroom. My class met in a huge room with no walls and only portable partitions teachers could use to “hide” from other classes.

I took a three-year hiatus from teaching in the late seventies to stay at home with my young son. After that, I obtained my master of arts degree in English and taught at Cooper High School for one year, followed by a wonderful experience for me in the Coahoma school district. After that my family moved to Waco, where I taught one year in a tiny school about twenty miles from our home.

Following that year, I taught in Connelly ISD for a marvelous five years before moving back to Abilene for my husband Mike to complete his career as a chaplain at Hendrick Medical Center. 

I taught the next fourteen years at Abilene High School, my alma mater, before retiring in 2004 to add an additional eight years of teaching at the college level.

I loved teaching, and I loved my students. Over a long career, I encountered both treasured and tragic events. One of my eighth-grade students died suddenly during a weekend church retreat. One of my ninth-grade boys committed suicide. Another student died in a tragic traffic accident on her way to a class party. 

Nothing compares to a classroom with an empty seat where a young person should be sitting. No words can express the emotion contained in that blemished classroom.

On the other hand, I have many happy memories of students’ kindness and appreciation over the many years. I received gifts of flowers, stuffed animals, baked goodies, and handwritten notes that truly write my life story for me.

I wish I could say that all my students admired and loved me, but unfortunately, I cannot. I had a few negative encounters that I never really understood. On the other hand, most of my teaching career was filled with wonderful young people who respected and admired me. 

Every year I had at least one student who seemed to need an adult to talk to. Usually those students lived on the periphery of high school life. They would come into my classroom after school and sit and talk and talk.

Tammi, a student from my first year of teaching, has sent me a Christmas card every year since I taught her in 1972. I also get an annual card from Sara, a student from 1998, with a photo update of her family. 

Haim Ginott, an educator and child psychologist, once wrote about the power of a teacher. He said a teacher’s approach and attitude create the climate of a classroom. The teacher can “torture or inspire . . . humiliate or humor, hurt or heal.”

Glennice Harmon in an NEA Journal article published a poem entitled “They Ask Me Why I Teach.” Her reply to the question is, “Where could I find more splendid company?” The poet goes on to refer to wonderful lives her students will live and the contributions they will make to society.

Though a lovely poem, its idealistic view fails to recognize the significant reality of public education. Naomi John White wrote “I Taught Them All,” published first in The Clearing House in November 1937. Her piece shows the struggle dedicated teachers face every day in their classrooms.

Teachers love children and want to enrich their lives in as many ways as possible. While they want this above all, they are employed to teach a mandated curriculum. White refers to some of her former students as “murderers, evangelists, pugilists, thieves, and imbeciles.” At the end of the essay, she laments that her curriculum seemed of no significance in their lives.

I understand a teacher’s sentiment of hoping that all his or her students will learn the subject matter as well grow personally from the teacher’s example and influence. I, too, taught two murderers, one convicted child rapist, many mentally disturbed students, and several thieves; however, the majority of my students became responsible adults who contribute to society.

Nothing thrills me more than hearing from a former student who thanks me for some incident between the two of us, often something I have forgotten. 

In an old newspaper article, I wrote, “It is a great honor and awesome responsibility to stand before a classroom full of students. Although not all students will appreciate or understand every teacher, they should know that most of their teachers really care about them, inside and outside the classroom.”

My answer to the title’s question, “Why do teachers teach?” is a simple one—teachers teach because they love children and hope to help them become the people God intends.

Nancy Patrick is a retired teacher who lives in Abilene and enjoys writing