One of the beloved members of our staff passed from a massive heart attack last week, so I went for the first time to a teacher funeral.
Call me young and silly, but I always imagined that a teacher funeral would be like this big dramatic inspirational moment where great crowds of people would emerge somberly from throughout the community to honor a fallen hero. There would be folks from all walks of life lining up to share amazing stories of how the teacher saved their lives or made their lives better. Maybe there would be famous or prominent former students would stand up and honor them. I guess this fantasy might be my way of trying to compensate myself for all that I put into the job now. You know, the they-may-not-appreciate-it-now,-but-I'll-definitely-get-it-once-I'm-dead kind of thinking.
Turns out, it doesn't really happen even after your dead.
The teacher who passed was the kind of teacher I would love to be after 40 years in the field.
He had been at the school since 1969 as a P.E./Health teacher and sports coach. This year he was working full time as our Athletic Director. His love for the school and its students was prevalent in all that he did. Even I, having known him for only a few months, noticed the extraordinary amount of dedication he poured into his job.
Don't get me wrong, there were still hundreds of people at his funeral. And they were people of all ages, races, etc. It just wasn't the big dramatic production I had imagined in my head. A small handful of people stood up and shared, we said a prayer, sang a few hymns and it was over. In lieu of flowers, his family (likely in accordance with his own wishes) asked the money be donated to the school athletics dept. God, he was such a cool teacher~
Even though my ridiculous dreams for a glorious funeral were shattered, I was humbled and surprised by one thing: the man's family. When they stood up and spoke about him, it really did sound like a hero's funeral. They were just so proud of him, and when they spoke about it, every eye in the place started tearing up. It was then that I realized that love, respect, and honor matter the most when they come from the people who love you the most. All the people in the world could come to your funeral, but it doesn't mean a thing if your son can't stand up there with tears in his eyes, and tell the world how much you meant to him.
I absolutely love this post. It seals that final and most important question we all ask ourselves about what legacy we leave behind when we die. Being a teacher, I think this is really pertinent as the ideal is to touch a child's life in the most significant way possible. Ultimately, all that matters is what are families think about us and what positive impact we have made in their lives. May his soul rest in perfect peace. Please keep blogging - I love your posts! Have been thinking about going into teaching for the last 5 years but the innate fear of low salaries and unruly kids just does not do it for me. You may be the one who finally convinces me to do the right thing...
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