A few days ago, I found myself sitting cross-legged on my bed, laptop in hand. I’d recently written an essay (or three) about my career in education, and I had read them no less than twenty times apiece. I’d reread them to the extent that words were beginning to blur, seeming foreign; it felt pretty much the same as reading the ingredients on a popular candy from a different country. My brain felt exhausted, a state that seemed to happen with more ferocity and ease every year (probably adjacent to the hours I spent answering and caring for my young children during the day). At 9:30, my phone rang: cue Mrs. Funk.

Now, a note on my beloved Goddess of Truth and Knowledge. In my formative years, Mrs. Funk had formally served as my Accelerated Learning teacher, but she had also informally served as mentor, advisor, and honest surveyor of the course of my life. Early on, she recognized my love of words, and she spent a good deal of time guiding me as I honed those skills. Wonderful she was, but she could also be a brutal editor. When I think back on those years of her tutelage, I think first of bright red scribbles, cross-throughs, and circles on the transcript of my written work. I think of the aggressive shake of her head and the way she’d chuckle, gasp, laugh, etc. followed by a “Oh, no, no, no!” It was harsh, but always, always necessary, and every single time I walked away from an editing session, I felt wholly confident that the end result was miles better than it was before her eyes touched it. 

We edit because it’s important. We edit because the work we do deserves it. 

Fast forward fifteen years. It’d been nearly half of my life since Mrs. Funk read my work, just as long since she’d reviewed it. I hadn’t spoken to her for years, but the impact of her teaching on my life was evident in every single moment I sat with students at my desk and conferenced over their writing. It was evident in the honest approach I have always taken with my students, because what’s the point in beating around the bush? We pursue excellence because we’re capable of it! This pathos definitely came to me in part because of the years I spent at Mrs. Funk’s side. When I tell my students to read their work aloud at least twice before they submit it? That’s from her. When I ask them to read their paragraphs separately to figure out where they best fit? That’s from her. 

As a teacher, I spend most of my moments with students aware of the reality that the way I teach them and the way I speak to them and the way I believe in them will contribute to the way they see the world and see themselves. The way Mrs. Funk taught me to study my own words, to dedicate time and effort at every occasion not only because it was expected but because I was capable and owed it to the person I would become… these lessons, in so many ways, formed the teacher I am today. I’m a teacher who edits and revises and rewrites– not just my work, but myself and my lessons and my approach. I reconsider every aspect because the students in my classroom deserve someone who will work that hard for them, and I owe it to myself to be the very best teacher I can be. 

So, anyway, all this to say, when I found myself in need of an outside perspective, I sent a text to my beloved teacher. And her response? I’ll call you in twenty minutes. I have thoughts.