The Forty Days

I attended first through twelfth grade at the same school.  The school is a beautiful, private school in North Dallas–it has great teachers, an amazing campus, and a strong sense of community.  It boasts of alumni such as Tommy Lee Jones, Owen and Luke Wilson, and Steve Miller (although Owen Wilson and Steve Miller were “not asked back” at some point during their high school years).  It has pretty much everything a young, budding scholar would want–except girls.  Come to think of it, my parents not only sent me to an all-boys school for twelve years but also to an all-boys camp during the summers, as well.  Did you want me to be completely awkward around girls my entire life, Mom and Dad?  Well, congratulations, mission accomplished.

Although I hold a great affinity for this school in my heart and had some close relationships with my teachers while I attended, I have never been back to reconnect with my old teachers.  Today, I find myself  nervously stumbling onto the campus I once ruled with a mission: reconnect with the teachers I was closest to as a student, ask them what they remember about me, and thank them for everything they did for me when I was their student.  The following is a synopsis of who I met with and what we discuss.

Ms. S.  8th Grade Algebra.  Ms. S tells me my face looks the same as when I attended school–except for the beard, of course.  She asks about what I’m doing–I tell her I’m unemployed.  She looks disappointed until I explain that I have a job at a law firm lined up and have been clerking for federal judges for the past two years.  (I do not tell her or any of the other teachers about the blog, as I just want to have a real conversation with them without focusing on this silly blog.)  She tells me that she remembers me as a tall, skinny, mature student.  Sounds like me.  She says that I was one of those students that she wanted to cross paths with again and that she was very excited to get my e-mail that I wanted to visit with her.  I get a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Mr. D.  Assistant Tennis Coach.  Mr. D is now the Assistant Headmaster, and we talk about the development of the school since I left.  Mr. D remembers me as a relaxed, fun, laid-back guy.  I really haven’t changed at all, have I?  We somehow then start talking about his budding friendship with Steve Miller, and he dispels two rumors I had heard about Steve Miller’s dealings with the school.  Rumor #1:  Steve Miller did not get expelled for riding his motorcycle through one of the school’s buildings.  Rumor #2:  My former 7th Grade English teacher was not the one who called Steve Miller a “Space Cowboy.”

Dr. B.  Physics.  The first thing I notice about Dr. B is that his once bushy head of brown hair has turned absolutely white.  I guess we’re all getting older.  I knew Dr. B always liked me–he wrote one of my college letters of recommendation.  I had him for Physics his first year teaching, and today he tells me that I was one of the reasons that he was glad he was teaching at the school his first year.  Really?  Was I a teacher’s pet during high school.  I mean, I knew I wasn’t popular in high school, but was I the kid that all the teachers loved and all the students hated?  Yikes.

Mr. F.  Class of ‘96.  Mr. F was in my graduating high school class and is now the Assistant Head of Middle School.  I haven’t seen him since we graduated.  I ask him if it’s weird to be colleagues with the teachers that we once had.  “Yes, yes it is,” he says.  He tells me that he still can’t call some of the teachers by their first names, instead addressing them in the same way he did when he was their student.  He tells me that he keeps apologizing to Dr. B for being such a jerk in his Physics class senior year.

Mrs. R.  2nd Grade Math.  Oh, man, this is truly weird.  I had her as a teacher in, like, 1985 or ‘86.  She says that all she remembers about me was my curly hair and that I was stocky.  Hmmm, I think I’ve been skinny my entire life, except when I was really, really young.  Does she actually remember me?  After I tell her what I’ve been doing, I say, “I did good.”  “Well!” she responds.  “You did well.”  Then she smacks my hand.  Before I leave, she tells me she’s proud of me.  Awwwwww.

Mr. S.  Freshman Biology and AP Biology.  We talk a little about Austin and what I’ve been doing.  I feel like I was the worst-behaved in his class.  I remember him getting so mad at us in AP Bio because we were seniors and we didn’t really care anymore.  I got kicked out of lab once for throwing some gel at another student.  When I tell him that I thought I acted like a jerk in his class, he says, “Noooo.  You were fine.”  He tells me that students have come up to him in the past and told him about how mad he would get in their class, and he says that he doesn’t remember getting mad at all.  Surprisingly, he seems very happy.

Mr. L.  Tennis Coach.  We catch up.  We talk about how I was never really that good at tennis.  We talk a little about his son, who was a friend/acquaintance of mine during high school.  His son died over a decade ago from cancer.  He was a really amazing person.  I have to go meet my family for lunch, so Mr. L walks with me towards my car.  I thank him for all he did for me as a student, and we say goodbye.

Although I would have still gone to Dallas to visit my family, I would have definitely not reconnected with these teachers if not for this blog.  It would have just taken too much energy and been too awkward for me to garner the motivation for such an endeavor.  But I really do think that these teachers appreciated the visit and my gratitude for their efforts many years back.  And I think I gained just a little better understanding of who I was back then, who I am now, and where I want to go.  Or maybe it was just another day in all our lives, laced with a little humor, a little sadness, and faded, warm memories.