An Overdue Memoriam

I believe that most people can identify at least one teacher in their educational experience who had a particularly notable impact on their lives, whether in the academic arena or simply in growing up. I was fortunate to grow up in an area that was famously and rightly proud of the quality of its public education system, although I think the district's successes had as much to do with the importance placed on education by the many highly educated parents that lived there, in what was only beginning to be known as Silicon Valley. We are told that iron sharpens iron; I believe that it was the high standards and motivational level of my classmates, particularly in high school, that shaped much of who I was as a student. Our efforts were matched, however, by many of our teachers, who fed off of our competitiveness and pushed us to achieve great things. For some reason, I managed to avoid several of the duds my sister had.

One teacher has always stood out in my mind as one who gave me confidence in myself that, as a 13 year old, I did not come by easily. Jim Grayson was my seventh grade English and History teacher at Cupertino Junior High School. Our class, if I remember correctly, met for a double-length period in an unusually oversized classroom. Mr. Grayson enjoyed engaging his students in large, creative projects. One of those projects, something that I doubt would be attempted today due to the subject matter, was an essay assignment entitled "Fight After School." (I suppose the assignment was in conjunction with life lessons about how to deal with difficult social issues, although I do not recall that specifically.) Mr. Grayson set up the scenario, which I think involved a bully, and we were to finish the story.

I dutifully produced my story, which was takes a surprisingly violent turn. It makes me wonder just a little about my view of the world at the time. The basic storyline was that the big confrontation with the bully ended prematurely when the scared, pick-on kid accidentally stabs himself with the knife he had hidden in his pocket. I think I was intrigued by how difficult it is to project force when you are not accustomed to doing so.

The amazing development for me was not just that I received an A+. Mr. Grayson also selected my story to be the one that the class would film, for which I worked as an assistant director of sorts. While immensely flattering, I remember nothing about the filming, other than the fact that he used Paul McCartney's "Live and Let Die" as the theme song. It was the first time I had ever heard the tune; I thought it was a pretty weird choice at the time, but I have had a soft spot in my heart for it ever since.

What I will never, ever forget, though, were the words he wrote at the top of my paper in clear red ink: "Someday I will pay to read your writing." To be shown that kind of esteem by an adult was a very new experience at the time, and humbles me to this day. Does any teacher know the full extent of their potential impact when they write something like that? It is life-changing. I had been a successful student writer to that point already, having participated with some success in Brotherhood Essay contests and young writers' fair events, but Mr. Grayson's words solidified something deep within me. That I instantly acquired an unshakeable confidence in my own ability to write was only part of the story; Mr. Grayson also solidified something about my own view of myself. (Of course, the wit in me says Mr. Grayson could have been proven correct if he had just paid my retainer fee, but somehow I don't think that is what he meant.)

Society at large today frets often about the eroding self-confidence of young people. Yet, there is perhaps nothing an adult can do to prepare an youth to be the confident adult we all hope he will be than to express genuine admiration for something that child can do. I refer not to the all-too-common practice now of giving out real or virtual trophies to everyone for just showing up. Kids see through that; they know that when everyone is special, nobody is special (one of the best lines of the excellent movie "The Incredibles"). What everyone craves is for someone they respect to respond positively, genuinely, to something they do. Whether it is solving difficult math problems or setting the table just so, the payoff of the heartfelt approval of an adult can be felt far out of proportion to the effort required of the adult to give it. (Sadly, the same principle applies to mean-spirited cricism.) I was very lucky to have Mr. Grayson give me that kind of boost.

I ran across a box the other day that contains a lot of my old schoolwork, including my "Fight After School" paper. I had not remembered that I still had it in my possession, and was suprised and delighted to see it again. It got me to thinking about Mr. Grayson again, and how much he deserved to hear how much his words, which took him only a few seconds to write, influenced the rest of my life. Unfortunately, it turns out that I'm almost seven years too late. Mr. Grayson passed away after a quick fight with cancer in February 2000. Reading about him in the local paper, I see even more clearly how he could have a lasting impact on a student's life. He was a life-long teacher, he mentored other teachers, and was named Teacher of the Year for the district the year before he died. According to the article linked above, his friends remembered his teaching style: "He told kids they would succeed, and they believed him and performed up to his standards." Quite true.

What I find equally amazing about all of this is that at the time I was his student, he was the age I am now. First, I thought he was a pretty old guy (whoops). Second, would I have the sensitivity, foresight and wisdom to nuture a student the way he nutured me, if I were in his shoes? I would like to think so, but that seems to have been his unique talent.

Sorry I'm so tardy, Mr. Grayson, but thank you.