a pending debt

A few years ago, I settled a debt with my conscience: I sent New Year’s greetings to each of my favorite university professors and to my high school Geography and History teacher. Truth be told, wishing them a happy New Year was just an excuse to thank them for what they’d taught me and for the passion they brought to their classes.

I didn’t write my name on the cards or the envelopes because I felt a bit shy about that —I just signed them as “a former student.” I didn’t want it to be something personal, but rather a symbolic thank-you, on behalf of all the students who had passed through their classrooms and, despite taking wildly different paths, had been too caught up in the daily grind to look back. I never liked memorizing facts like a parrot for exams, but I love learning new things. I think as a student, there’s no greater luck than finding a good teacher, one who makes classes engaging and sparks your curiosity. (These are screen captures from some of my favourite "great teachers" films.  ↓ )

Front of the Class

The Emperors Club

Beyond the Blackboard

The Chorus

From my pre-university years I only mentioned one teacher because I didn’t come across many exceptional ones during that time, except for a wonderful English teacher I’ll talk about another day, who sadly passed away in an accident when I was starting university. There’s also another high school teacher I remember—not because she was exceptional, but because of how hard she tried and how unfairly some of my classmates treated her. Teenage cruelty is something I might write about another time.

Today, I want to focus on that Geography and History teacher. She was a young woman, probably in her thirties, a bundle of energy who smoked too much and had a fiery personality. If she caught someone cheating, watch out —she could be fierce. She taught standing up, never sitting, with her short hair matching her no-nonsense vibe. Before starting class, she’d roll up her sleeves, like she was getting ready to dive in.

She was incredibly knowledgeable, had a great sense of humor —you were never bored in her classes— and you could tell she loved her job. One thing I admired was how she encouraged us to think for ourselves, to be critical. Like when she had us compare the same news story in different newspapers to see how each spun the facts to suit their agenda.

On the last day of class before Christmas break, she came in with a stack of photocopies and handed them out. They were sheets cut into quarters, folded in half. When she told us to open them, we found a moving, inspiring poem by Rudyard Kipling I hadn’t known before. On every copy—and there were about forty of us in class—she’d handwritten below it: “Merry Christmas. With love, M.” I thought it was such a sweet gesture.

That day, we had two hours of class with a break in between. When we came back to the classroom, I saw one of the photocopies on the floor —actually, there were several, scattered around, some stepped on. It made me sad, so I picked one up, dusted it off, and tucked it into my backpack. My desk was near the front, and a lot of my classmates were still chatting when the teacher walked in. When she saw the papers on the floor, she shook her head and I heard her mutter, disappointed, “Don’t cast pearls before swine…” The clip below is of one of my favorite scenes from The Dead Poets Society, from that first class in which Professor Keating blows his students’ minds by throwing out the textbook they were supposed to use. I would’ve loved to have him as my American literature professor in university. Below the video, I’m pasting the Rudyard Kipling poem for anyone curious.

IF... poem by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you

But make allowance for their doubting too,

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream... and not make dreams your master,

If you can think... and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much,

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And, which is more: you'll be a Man, my son!