The Best of Teachers

For me, they were Mr. Britton. Melody Mom. Mrs. Ward. Kirk.

Some taught in classrooms. Others probably never thought of themselves as teachers at all. But each, in their own way, taught me something far bigger than the lesson at hand.

Mr. Britton taught history.

I had always been fascinated by history, but until his class, it had mostly been taught through dates, timelines and facts. Memorization, which certainly has its place.

But Mr. Britton kept asking us one question.

Why?

Why did this happen? Why did certain things exist in the South that didn't exist in the North, or vice versa? What was already in place that allowed something else to happen? What series of events led to the next series of events? And perhaps most fascinating to me... can you think of things happening today that are packaged very differently, but really aren't so very different from things that have happened before?

Suddenly, history stepped out of the books.

It was alive. It was ongoing.

And something shifted. Education became not something I was obligated to do, or HAD to do, but something I couldn't wait to do. It felt a little like unwrapping a gift. One discovery revealing another, one question leading to the next. I wasn't simply absorbing information anymore. I was integrating it. Connecting it to other things I knew, to the world around me, and to questions I hadn't even thought to ask yet.

"Those people" and events from the history books weren't simply people from some distant time anymore. I could imagine their sense of adventure, their reasoning, their fears, their dreams. I began to understand that people living through history didn't know how their story was going to end or be told any more than we know how ours will.

And I began to see something else. History was bigger than the story in the textbook. The stories and perspectives that were chosen represented only part of what had happened, often told by those who won, held power, or had the opportunity to write them down. There were layers upon layers of other stories and perspectives underneath. Many truths and stories could live together in one space to create an absolutely stunning tapestry.

I became fascinated by those layers. By the systems that give rise to beliefs, traditions and cultural norms. By how one event creates conditions for another, and how the past continues to shape what we accept, question, fear, believe, live and hope for today.

History was no longer something that "once was." Today was part of it. We are living somewhere along this long, dynamic, multi-faceted and very human journey.

Mr. Britton taught me to ask WHY. To wonder. To look beyond the first version of a story and recognize that there are almost always more stories to be found. In doing that, he didn't just change the way I looked at history. He changed the way I looked at the world, and myself.

And there were other teachers, in other places, teaching in completely different ways.

Melody Mom didn't just give me the recipe for the world's best apple pie. She made it with me, and it was a lesson in texture, feel, stories about the various kinds of apples, impact of cold vs room temperature butter, an explanation of how ingredients work together and why, memories of apple pies savored and decades of meals shared. Melody Mom was not simply sharing a recipe; this apple pie lesson was one I shall remember for always because no one had ever taught me a recipe quite like that. Her joy and love were folded into that apple pie, and perhaps it was then that I understood just why it was that her apple pie was the very best there was. Melody Mom was not simply teaching me a recipe. What I learned was far more.

Mrs. Ward wrapped her enormous wings, shaped like arms and devotion, around me. When I parroted things I'd grown up hearing from others, she didn't tell me I was wrong, or argue with me, or shame me. She shared her own experiences with me and invited me to look at my preconceived notions differently. To consider another person's experience and wonder if there might be more to the story.

Kirk didn't teach me how to put the string trimmers or snowblowers together. He handed me the tools and told me to come get him when I hit a snag I couldn't figure out. When I did, he had the patience to leave what he was doing, come over, show me what I needed to know, and then encouraged me to problem solve something that most certainly had NOT previously been in "my department." Kirk was someone who instilled in me a belief I could do something I had not previously believed I could.

Different people. Different lessons. Different ways of teaching.

There were teachers before them, and there have been many who followed. Some were in school classrooms, though so many have been mentors and teachers in this much greater classroom of life, which I continue to find wondrous.

And perhaps that is something I've loved most about the very best teachers I've known.

They are still learning, too. They are curious. They seek things out. They ask questions. They get excited when they discover something they didn't know before, and they can't wait to share it. Their passion becomes contagious.

They don't simply give us answers.

They teach us to ask better questions. To look again. To try. To listen. To challenge an assumption. To understand the why behind something. To make connections. To consider another perspective. To pick up the tools and see if maybe we can figure it out ourselves.

Learning expands how we think and how we see. Art, which of course we celebrate every day at Artisans, does this too. It makes us stop. Look again. Feel something differently. Consider another perspective. It reminds us that creativity, curiosity and learning aren't separate things at all.

And perhaps the ultimate gift comes when we recognize that, throughout our lives, we are both student and teacher. We learn from one another, and we also teach through the example of how we live. What we choose to share. The questions we ask. The things we care about. The way we show up for other people.

Because when I think about the teachers who have stayed with me, it isn't necessarily the facts I remember.

It is them.

The people who choose to share something of themselves... their curiosity, their passion, their stories, their way of seeing the world, and in doing so, shift something in us. Sometimes they change how we think Sometimes they change what we believe is possible. And sometimes, without ever knowing it, they change the very fabric of who we are and how we move through the world.

And then, hopefully, we carry some of that forward and give it to someone else. What an extraordinary gift that is!

So thank YOU to the teachers in our lives. In classrooms, kitchens, workshops and everywhere in between. Those who guide us, challenge us, share what they love, hand us the tools, tell us their stories, and help us see things we might not otherwise have seen.

The world becomes a much bigger and more wondrous place because of you. And may we never forget that each of us has the opportunity to do the same for someone else.

Cheers to You!