Teacher Appreciation Week: Thank You!

This week is "Teacher Appreciation Week." As the son of teachers, the brother of a teacher, the husband of a teacher, and a veteran of many hours sitting in front of teachers, I want to take a moment to thank those who impacted me so much.

My Mom and Dad, Janet Meyer and Walt Meyer, of course were my first teachers. From tying shoes to tying fishhooks, cooking and baking, driving nails and driving cars, shaving whiskers and shaving "pills" off sweaters, how to listen in church and how to enjoy sitting still, the list is endless of what they taught me. I never had Mom as a classroom teacher, but she taught me a love for (and how to read) music, the hymns and liturgy, how to patiently sit and read a book, and how to wash the dishes. Dad was my school principal, from kindergarten through 8th grade, and my teacher for 5th - 8th grade. Talk about having to toe the line! I still remember lessons he taught us in Zion Lutheran School in Walburg. Math, reading, English, spelling, social studies were all under his watchful eye. And, for all of us 5th and 6th grade boys in the spring of 1986, we still remember his ”there will be no more farting in my classroom” lecture. My son tells me I apparently didn’t learn that lesson very well, but that’s for another day.

At Holy Cross in Emma, Mo., Mrs. Stahl, my kindergarten teacher, helped me learn to understand the words Mom taught me to read. Mrs. Scherping was my first-grade teacher and, looking back, I must admit, I had a child's crush on her in 1981. In fairness, she had jet-black Crystal Gayle hair and was from Hawaii! That was pretty exotic stuff for a 5-year-old in the Midwest! Jumping back to Walburg, Mr. Bartles was our 7th and 8th grade homeroom teacher and coach. He was tough but fair, generous with praise and encouragement to do our best. I hated running those miles and doing pullups for Presidential Fitness Tests, but we did it anyway. I remember how proud he was of me when I broke a fifteen-minute mile (if you know, you'll understand why that was such a big deal for me).

From Georgetown High School, I'll never forget the hours spent with Rodney Klett, practicing trumpet music and marching from dot to dot. He taught us discipline, and integrity, and the importance of teamwork, relying on the kid to your right and left who was also relying on you to the marks and the notes. Marching in the State finals and then playing for the TMEA Honor Band concert remain highlights of my young life. Gilbert Moehnke patiently tried to teach me algebra; alas, it didn't stick. I saw he passed a few years ago. I was sad to see that. Karen Werkenthin taught me to love words and to write better than I thought I could write. (All grammar errors in this post are mine and mine alone and no fault of hers.) Senora Yolanda Almaraz taught me that learning a second language was hard work, a lot more than singing the "Uno, Dos, Tres" song with Sesame Street. I got my first and only F in my academic career, the 4th six weeks of Spanish 2. Thanks to a lot of sweat, and I am convinced a generous curve and gentle heart, I mysteriously got exactly the grade I needed for the final six weeks and the final exam to have “earned” – I use the word very loosely - a C in her class. Years later, after taking Latin and Greek in college, I went back and told her that she planted the seeds of studying for languages; she laughed and asked how many times the seeds had to be replanted.

College professors at Concordia Lutheran College/Concordia University of Texas continued to shape and mold me. Clyde Duder, now with Jesus, had me for so many undergrad English classes that he gave me a minor in "Duder-onomy." My advisor, Milt Reimer, who had more degrees than a thermometer, provided gentle but firm direction. Paul Puffe and Mike Middendorf both spent several hours with me when I was wrestling with questions about becoming a pastor, later replanting those linguistic seeds sown by Sra. Almaraz. Claudia Teinert helped me get over my fear of speaking in front of strangers, and to do so with passion and emotion to convey the meaning of the text. She let me play the part of a certified Bad Guy in the play, Murder in the Cathedral. Susan Stayton challenged me as a freshman to do upper-level work. Bill Driskill and his right-hand, Carol Pampell Hancock, were very kind to a simple country boy who got pretty doggone homesick in the big city.

I had a handful of seminary professors who, perhaps, some day, I might grow up and be worthy of walking in their shadow. Jeff Gibbs, Richard Warneck, Wayne Schmidt, Henry Rowold and Reed Lessing, will forever be the model of what a pastor should be: smart, faithful, caring, Christ-centered, and loving; excellent pastors, preachers, teachers, and faithful men of God; churchmen who love Jesus and their people (students) and inspired us to do the same.

There are two final teachers I want to mention. The first is my sister, Jen. She started out in the classroom of a Lutheran school and is now the director of Lutheran schools in the Florida-Georgia District of the Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod. I’m very proud of her and what she’s accomplished. I’m not surprised in the least, and I look forward to soon calling her “Dr. Tanner, PhD.”

The other teacher is my wife. She learned her craft in college, but she has honed it over two decades of teaching. From the St. Louis metro area, to deep East Texas, to a Houston suburb, to the Coastal Bend of South Texas, she has taught from third grade through high school. Originally intending to be a Lutheran school teacher, herself, she has spent most of her career in public schools, “the mission field with the greatest need for Jesus in the United States,” she says, and in her classroom, she does her best to show that love of Jesus in her words and actions. (She also shows the winnowing fork and the fire at the root of the trees, now and then, but that, too, is another subject for yet another day.) She has taught our three children, from letters to life-lessons. And she has taught me what it is to give grace when I am wrong and I apologize and how to receive grace when she errs and asks for forgiveness.

With the exception of my wife and sister, most of the teachers I have mentioned are retired now, or will be soon retiring. I’ve lost touch with most of them. If any read this, and if any of them remember me (I was remarkably average; the deeper the water, the more average-sized fish I became) I appreciate what you taught, or tried to teach, me. Yours is a wonderfully important vocation that does not get the praise or credit that is due it.

So, to you, dear friend and dear teacher, for the hours of frustration, trying to push information and ideas and concepts and words and numbers and problem solving skills into thick-yet-mushy brains; the evenings surrendered to grading papers; the dollars given to school fundraisers; the praise given when the light bulbs finally lit up in our heads; the chastisement when we behaved as hoodlums and hooligans; the genuine tears when we left your class for the final time, moving onward and upward into the world; for being you, whom God created you to be and placed you as a teacher and educator:

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Me - A former student.