In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Teacher’s Pet.”
My mom made me write to them every year, even after we moved away to a different city, to show my respect and appreciation. So I stayed in touch with many of them until they moved or, a couple of them until their passing.
Ms. Isahaya, from my elementary school, remembered that I once wanted to be a doctor and kept encouraging me year after year.
Mr. Yoshitsugu, who limped (somebody said that he was injured in the war), went on to teach at a school for special children and inspired me. When I married and notified, he wrote back saying that it was a wonderful time that one could freely choose whom they marry to.
In high school, I had many teachers with characters. A history teacher who looked as if he just ran to his class from an archeological site, dusty and disheveled. An art teacher impressed and intimidated me with his wafting long gray hair. A Japanese teacher, short and stocky, scared us, including the bad boys, with his “What did you just say?” samurai look. And, an English teacher who was soft-spoken, often looked outside of the window musing.
All in all, I learned compassion and humility from attending public schools. I was able to see what others go through. Poor and well-off, smart and needy. That was a real education.