A Life Lesson a Day Keeps the Discomfort Away

There was an English teacher whose room was the pit-stop for several students during the passing periods of my high school.  Some came for a mint- or fruit-flavored lifesaver candy, which were always in the back of the classroom.  Others came to socialize with students who also chose this particular room to stop in.  Most, however, came to listen to the teacher with a different life lesson each day.  Let's call her T.Q.

T.Q. was not your ordinary high school English teacher.  She tap-danced to demonstrate how to vary sentence structures.  On your birthday, she let you dig for a surprise in the treasure box.  If you looked particularly nice any day in class, she cued up "I'm Too Sexy" on her boom-box and demanded you do the "catwalk."  She occasionally picked a student for the whole class to interview.  We students were her family.  At the end of every single class, she would say, "I love you, and you are very special."  It was clear she meant what she said.  Compassion was something T.Q. showed on a daily basis.

T.Q., similarly to how an elementary school teacher readies her class for story time, would sit at the front of the room at the beginning of each class.  Life lessons were given every day, no matter what.  She shared stories that were happy, emails that were funny, and personal experiences that were downright depressing.  Because she took the time to share these stories with us, a deep connection was created between T.Q. and the students.  She showed compassion on a daily basis; there was absolutely no doubt that she was going above and beyond what was expected of her.  T.Q. didn't just teach us about grammar -- she taught us what it felt like for someone to truly care.

The story that really got me tear-filled was something personal T.Q. decided to share with us.  She told us about how she was so happy and blessed to have three beautiful daughters and a wonderful husband.  Then she told us about how she nearly lost every bit of that.  T.Q. began to have horrific migraines.  When she would wake up each morning, her pillow would be mysteriously damp.  She soon realized that the dampness was from fluid draining out of her ear at night.  Thinking the worst, she scheduled a doctor's appointment.  The doctor told her there was nothing to worry about.  A simple tube was to be inserted in her ear, and her symptoms would disappear in no time.  As it turns out, many appointments later, this tube was completely worthless.  Feeling like she had no other choice, T.Q. took matters into her own hands.  She Googled her symptoms, which led to what she was fearful of -- a brain tumor.  

T.Q. had to have a few surgeries, but she survived.  When she shared this with us, she let us into her life.  The invisible line that most teachers draw to separate school from their personal lives did not exist in her classroom.  Personally, her life lessons were sometimes exactly what I needed to hear on a particular day.  I believe most of my peers felt the same way.  I know this because her room was never empty. Before, during, and after school, I would drop in to visit T.Q. and find her talking with other students.  Her compassion made her more than a teacher.  I will never forget T.Q.