There’s no doubt about it - teachers change lives. For me, it was 7th grade, Mr. Chiarelli. He was that teacher – almost everyone has one – the one who made an indelible mark on my struggling pre-teen soul. He praised me in the subjects that I was good at, like reading and writing, and challenged me in math, my worst subject. He refused to give up on me; he persisted and so did I, finishing with high B grade in math at the end of that year. He was tough but he had a heart of gold. When he was displeased with us, he would raise one eyebrow and peer at us over his glasses. I spent a whole weekend looking in the bathroom mirror, teaching myself to raise one eyebrow to copy his expression. It comes in handy from time to time.
Mr. Chiarelli taught us to sing Amazing Grace and to this day, I am deeply moved every time I hear it. Everyone in junior high knew him as the teacher who taught guitar as an extracurricular activity - simply because he loved it. I was one of a few students who didn’t participate in the guitar program because I knew my mother would never buy me a guitar or allow me to practice at home. Mr. Chiarelli understood. In the spring when we started to learn square dancing for the end of the year dance show, Mr. Chiarelli chose me to participate in all the dances. I still remember the feeling of confidence and pride it gave me, like a wave surging from my head to my toes. And then there was Mrs. Jones, the music teacher. Poor Mrs. Jones. She was soft spoken and meek and had the misfortune of teaching in a classroom without windows. Every time we had music, while half of the class was paying attention, the other half was waiting for someone to run and shut off the lights when Mrs. Jones wasn’t looking. The room would go pitch black and we would all start screaming. She taught us all the traditional Christmas carols. I liked that.
American history came to life in 11th grade with Mr. Sherk. He waved his hands in the air wildly, danced around the room, and wrote big exclamation marks on the blackboard. In 12th grade Mr. Bialystok (whom I was convinced was a distant relative, due to the origin of my last name, Bailey) selected a few of us to participate in a Model United Nations conference, competing against other high schools in the province. Our mission was Argentina and we researched and practiced for months. On April 2, 1982, the second day of the Model UN, Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands – for real. We were not prepared for that! I will always remember Mr. Bialystok’s calm leadership as the group of us sat in big chairs in the hotel lobby late into the night, preparing our speech for the Security Council the next day. It was the highlight of my high school experience and inspired me to consider a career in international relations. I never pursued that path, but I still wonder, what if….
For my friend, it was a high school English teacher, Mrs. Smith. With one pointed question, she challenged him and sparked his lifelong love of reading. In the awkward struggle of self-identity that is the world of our youth, teachers do not simply teach and fill young minds with facts and formulas; they inspire and influence. They model leadership and character and enthusiasm for the world beyond the classroom. And then there are teachers who exhibit grace, amazing grace.
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