You Get What You Give

The year is 1975, and I'm on the bus headed down this road to school.

I cannot wait to get there, mostly because of

Mrs. Risch, my 9th-grade English teacher.

She's no-nonsense, and she's passionate about language.

The literature. The grammar. Communication.

I love language, too, so I feel an instant bond.

She's tough and she means business, 

but I can feel that she also loves us.

With no kids of her own, we are her kids.

She pushes us with her high expectations, but

she also knows that some of us have been awake and

 working since 4:30 am, so she ignores it if we nod off.

She tells us that in her class, we'll get what we give.

I like that about her and I want to become

an English teacher because of her.

Extracurricularly, she helped out with the musical

and she coached the Forensics team, so not only did

was I with her for College-Prep English senior year, 

but also for those extras before and after school.

But alas, time does what it does, moves fast, like a thief.

I went off to UW-Madison and she left the following year

to take a new position at a nearby college.

It has been fifty years now, but I can still see her 

leaning against the wall outside of her classroom

at the end of the hall, eager to greet her learners.

I thought about her often and felt profound

gratitude for the impact she'd had on my heart.

We talked about her at our 40th class reunion and

my classmate Paul shared her work number with me,

so I called and left a message, to thank her.

The weird thing is, this past August, Mrs. Risch's picture

showed up in my Facebook feed as a suggested friend.

Coincidence ... or serendipity?

Then, just last week, my Dad told me he'd gone to an event

and that he'd seen my old English teacher there.

Uncle Dan had even talked to her. Wait, what?

She was his high school English teacher, too?

Would he have her contact information?

After two texts, a phone call, and another two texts,

I tracked down her husband's phone number and

slowly dialed it. He answered, but it was she

who recognized my voice. We chatted as if

no time had ever passed, though I wasn't sure

if I should call her Kathleen or Mrs. Risch. 😂

We set up a farm tour for the next morning.

We started in the office with the history of our family farm.

Mrs. Risch was so interested in who's who.

We went to the milking parlor next,

but I could not interest her in milking a cow.

Next, we went to see the newborn calves

and I caught her gazing lovingly at this one.

We have about 8 calves a day born at Wayside Dairy.

Our timing was perfect to see this miracle unfold before our eyes.

After a Gator ride through the barns, we took this group shot;

turns out Mrs. Risch was also one of Aunt Eileen's favorites,

and Dad had worked with her on constructing an Arbor

for our Homecoming when she was our class sponsor.

I still admire her so; doesn't she look fantastic at 81-years-young?

I asked her how many students became teachers because of her.

And I couldn't help but wonder that about Aunt Eileen and me, too.

It is an honor to be called to have done the holy work,

of holding the hearts, shaping the souls, and mentoring the minds

of our most precious treasure, the children, our future.

And to teach them that you'll get what you give,

not just in school, not just in class, but in life.

So today, I'm feeling grateful, 

so incredibly blissful,

 and blessed beyond belief.

Who was your favorite teacher?

And does he or she know it?