Passing On

I attended the funeral of an old teacher today. I was 17 when she taught me History. I would hesitate to say she was an inspirational teacher, but I do remember her as a very kind one.

I had expected to see some old classmates, but there were none. In a way I'm relieved because it would have made the day a more poignant one - to see others who had sat in class with me, trying to scribble notes, now standing beside me as I paid my respects. Having teachers pass on is a little like having parents pass on I think. It reminds us we are no longer who we were once - students, teenagers, a whole lifetime of living ahead of us.

The funeral also made me realise something I never thought about as a teenager - that my teachers too had other selves. They were mothers and fathers, they became grandparents; they cooked, shopped, baked, exercised, played games, did a million other things that we students did not see and did not ask about. I did not know my teachers as individuals. When I shook her son's hand all I could say was "Your mother was my teacher." I hope he understood.

I would like to think my students know me differently. I hope they know there are many things I care about. I hope they know I loved teaching them. I hope they will have stories about me to tell my children and my grandchildren.