You always remember teachers who made a difference

Thursday and Friday of this past week, schools opened their doors for parent teacher conferences. I once feared these two days held twice a year. In my youth, I couldn’t let go of the tremendous responsibility I felt for each child. I just knew each success was theirs alone, each failure mine to wear.

But now with a bit more maturity, I understand that the parents are much more interested in their children then they are me. I hear them tell their children over and over again that teaching is my job, learning is their job. For two days, they urged, encouraged, admonished and praised their children for their learning. I beamed with pride at my school community — what strong and hard-working parents came through our doors.

The experience reminded me of the wonders it is to learn, and I considered my teachers and all that they taught me.

I confess I fell in love with my seventh-grade history/English teacher, Mr. Andersen. Andersen was 28 years old, stood 6-foot-8 and had fought in Vietnam, though he never spoke of it. His fingers must have been 8 inches long. His room had an original, 5-foot Pepsi can sign.

Andersen loved diagramming sentences. He would read out a complicated sentence, jump off the corner of his desk, lope to the board and scratch out all sorts of lines and angles and fancy words like “subordinate clause.” I was so impressed. I could tell no one ever argued with a subordinate clause. We read “A Separate Peace” by John Knowles; Phineas has never left my side since. But, most of all, Andersen would just talk and visit with us for whole class periods about stuff. I learned so much.

I also remember my least favorite teacher. Mr. Card taught senior college prep English. He and I enjoyed each other’s company about as much as a rat enjoys rat poison. However, in all honesty, if my memory of my senior year serves me well, if Card was the rat poison, I, no doubt, had behaved like a rat. Even though none of it was about English, I learned so much from Mr. Card.

Almost everyone has a favorite teacher story as well as their own Mr. Card. Some of the stories are motivational and others so horrible you dare not believe.

The strangest thing about being a teacher is the realization that you could be someone’s favorite teacher as well as someone’s least favorite. You just hope you’re not someone’s worst teacher. I don’t remember my worst teachers; from them I learned nothing.

And, as my parents gently showed me this past week, it is all about learning.

Emily Forstner teaches seventh grade language arts at Wasilla Middle School.