Educators: The Demigods of My Youth

Growing up, school was always like church for me.  It’s the one place I found peace, joy, connection, and glimpses of serenity.  I was fortunate enough to have a handful of outstanding teachers – in elementary school, high school, and even college – that helped nurture and guide my intellect. 

As an adult, I continue to have a deified image of those educators that touched me – not the bad touch of a Catholic priest – but the good touch of a mentor and guide.  I’ve been fortunate enough to re-connect with some of my favorite demigods through social media.  Every time I do, I feel like an awe-stricken child again, and am filled with reverence for them and the impact they had on me.  Even now, in my mid-thirties, I find it difficult to address my former teachers by their first names – it somehow feels sacrilegious to me. 

A few months ago, I found one of my most influential teachers from elementary school on facebook.  I had not seen or talked to her in 20 years, but I sent her a message and friend request.  Since then, we’ve exchanged a few words through that platform.  I was glad to see she’s still around and that she remembered me. 

This morning, shortly after walking into my office, my phone rang.  I answered, and I heard an unfamiliar but distinctly eastern Kentucky voice on the line, “Is this Tami from Leslie Co.?”  I affirmed my identity, and after a short exchange, I realized it was the aforementioned teacher from facebook.  I was completely taken aback.  I had initially felt creepy and a little like a stalker by sending her a friend request last summer.  Now, she had taken the initiative to look up my work number to contact me in a real-world medium.  Given the reverence I have for my old teachers, this is the equivalent of having God speak directly to me.  We talked for 15 minutes or so, but it quickly became clear to me that she may not have been at her most lucid, as she was under the influence of necessary prescription medication for a current health crisis.  I’m not sure she’ll even remember calling me, but I’m glad she did.  

Most importantly, I now know what it feels like to have your God drunk-dial you.