I think most teachers get into the profession precisely because they have a few of these; a teacher that taught a valuable lesson, showed interst or support when others wouldn't, and maintained a relationship that their students couldn't get anywhere else. Ruth Michaud (pronounced Mih-show) was that teacher for me. She was my 9th grade English teacher, and was one of the strongest people I've met and left the strongest imprint on my young mind.

     I was at a crux in my young life when I entered High School. My home life was less than stable and, though I still had some old friends (life-long friends, as it turns out) I had also started to hang out with a group of kids that didn't care about school. You know the group I'm talking about; embracing counter-culture attitudes of one kind or another, experimenting with sex and drugs, skipping school, fighting, running away, anger and alienation. Sitting in the back row of Mrs. Michaud's 9th grade class with a couple of these friends, I found the class intensely interesting, almost despite myself. Although outwardly I responded the way I thought I was supposed to, with disdain and indifference, I read every page of Catcher in the Rye, wrote extensively about a dystopian future inspired by our reading of The Giver and kept the poem Invictus in my wallet. Despite my outwardly apathetic defenses, Ruth Michaud saw through it. Not only that, but she kept me after school one day and told me, "You need to stop trying so hard." I balked at that, because if anything I had been "trying" not to do anything. No homework (at least nothing I turned in), no effort, no inclination to show interest. She wasn't referring to my academic efforts, but my effort to be something that I truly wasn't.

    I can still picture the room, the very seat I in which I sat (near the window on the far side of the room from the door, near the middle), when she said that single sentence. I won't say I changed in that moment, because I didn't. (From an 8 year teacher, that only happens in the movies anyway) However, we now shared a secret, and after I got over the initial indignation, I began to work for her. I worked my ass off, writing stories and poetry, reading ravenously and sneaking opportunities to talk with her after class or after school. She guided my writing, questioned my beliefs, and in doing so challenged me to appreciate and relish in my own intelligence.

    Toward the end of that year Mrs. Michaud was sick for about a week. She was diagnosed with Lupus, a disorder that dramatically weakens one's immune system. My mother, an elementary teacher, told me that she would not be teaching the following year. This was devastating because I felt that she was my only real link to the world of literature and creative writing. She had opened up an entire universe to me, and what's more, made it OK to be a part of it. I felt as if she'd been taken away. (Selfish, I know, but I was 15.)

    Finally I went on further in school, and developed close relationships with several other teachers along my high school career. I also never gave up that "counter-culture" circle of friends, but maintained closer relationships with my older friends. Over time, I found the confidence to be who I was regardless of the company I kept. I graduated from high school a member of chorus, chamber choir, jazz band, orchestra, theater, basketball, academic decathalon, speech contest, debate, newspaper and yearbook. I allowed my interests, creativity, and curiosity to define me and not my preconceived notions. I lead my life by Ruth Michaud's example, and though I only spoke with her every so often (she did come back to work my junior year, having managed to get her disease under control) I never let her know how powerful her example was to me. In fact, I didn't until 2004, when I graduated form college with a degree in English education.

     Ruth had retired years earlier, again, due to her illness. However, I upon graduation I received a small, elegantly written letter in the mail. In her tiny script, she had written a leter to me, informing me that she had heard I will be going into teaching language arts, and how proud of me she was. I waited a few months to truly understand how she had effected me, to understand our relationship in context. It's only with the passing of time that we truly know the impact of the people in our lives. When I wrote her back, I was finally able to articulate the gratitude I felt for her as my teacher. As a teacher, I find myself drawn to the least accessible students, and though it can be hard and I can find myself resenting them at times, I attempt to create the same realization of their own potential that I felt as a 9th grader in Ruth Michaud's class. It is this very cycle of learning, growth, and teaching that will continue to help future generations to reach their own potentials.

Photo from UTSA.edu