Touched

I remember when the word touched had a mental health meaning. In boyhood I heard people say that someone was "touched" (meaning a bit nuts)--or "touched in the head" (which made the whole thing seem less ambiguous, you know?).

I just looked at the Oxford English Dictionary, where I found several meanings of the adjective (participle!) touched.

The first is not surprising--something that's been, well, touched: the touched surface of the stove. (Ouch.)

The third (you'll notice I skipped the second: be patient) is here, word for word: "Slightly mad, crazy, or mentally unsound; a little eccentric." Ah, that's the one from boyhood! The OED traces it back to 1672, a few years before I was born.

But it's the second meaning I want to talk about just a moment this morning--and here it is: "Emotionally affected; moved." This one goes back to the late 16th century! Again--a bit before I was born.

And I want to say that I have been touched (meaning 2)--and deeply so--by the recent Facebook posts on Teacher Appreciation Day. Some former students have said some kind things. I've felt some consequent ... wetness ... around my eyeballs. (Strangest thing.)

These remarks from my former "kids" always humble me--because I know that I made mistakes every day--hell, every period. I said and did things I still regret--things that still float, unbidden, into my memory at night, things that growl at me in the dark, things that ask, Why did you do that?

Well, in some cases because I was Young and Dumb and didn't know what I was doing; in other cases, I was just thoughtless (the tongue quicker than the brain); in others, I was not all that sure I was wrong at the time, and Reflection taught me otherwise.

One of the things you quickly learn as a teacher: Some kids will like you, some will not, some will learn to like you, some will learn to dislike you. It's called "human interaction." One of the great strengths of the Aurora Middle School (and its later incarnation, Harmon School) was that we had a very diverse faculty--most kids could find someone to relate to.

And that's what you settle for in life, you know? You find a few you'll ride the range with--during which time you'll talk about the others whom you wouldn't ride with ...

When I read my course evaluations each year, I was always bothered by those kids who said negative things (and there always were such kids--and there should have been such kids). But I tried to learn from what they said, and I got better.

But never perfect--never anywhere near perfect. In my very last classes in 2011 at Western Reserve Academy--after forty-five years of trying to do better--I still read things from kids' evaluations, things I'd done and said that I wished I hadn't. Things that had bothered or hurt or disappointed them.

And so ... during Teacher Appreciation Week ... I'd like to thank all those students--those who enjoyed what I did, those who didn't and who let me know about it. I really did try to improve.

And I'd like to thank those special teachers of my own--Mrs. Ziegler (3rd grade), Mrs. Rockwell (4th grade), Mrs. Browning (9th grade English), Mr. Brunelle (English 10 and 11, Latin I and II, German I), Miss Vartenuk (US Government), Prof. Charles McKinley, Prof. Abe C. Ravitz (both in English at Hiram College), and many others who affected me--positively, negatively--throughout my school days, K-Ph.D.

And all those fabulous colleagues in Aurora and at Western Reserve Academy (I learned from you; I stole from you--the good, the bad, the ugly).

And, of course, my parents--Prudence and Edward Dyer--teachers both, role models extraordinaire.

Now our son, Steve, is teaching at the University of Akron. So on it goes ...