That same retirement ceremony, another teacher came up to give his little speech.  Funny that in the end, we’re given five or ten minutes to sum up a career – a career rich with human interaction and crazy stuff happening almost every single day!  I mean, what do you say?  This particular teacher, a Mr. H, was quite unlike the first guy.

I remember seeing him in the last semi-sad, waning days of summer the year before he retired.  He too taught at my old high school, and I marched right up to him and introduced myself.  We chatted for a bit about some of my classmates and teachers that were there a the time.  He said, “I remember you!” At first I thought, “Wow, I was never even in his class – but he remembers ME?” It was only later that I realized he was probably just humoring me.

We were standing in line waiting for some type of pre-school event – some luncheon or meeting or something.  HIs hair looked like the crazy, matted piles of synthetic straw found most commonly on the top of my daughter’s dolls.  His nose and ear hair were equally as prodigious, poking every which way like plants searching for sunlight.  His skin had the color and texture of an old baseball glove – well oiled at one time but since left too long in the elements.  He was wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, and I could swear I heard “Margaritaville” playing somewhere in the background.

Fast forward to the first day of classes, and Mr. H was polished and ready to go.  Hair trimmed and neatly combed, other body hairs appropriately contained, skin moisturized but mostly still rough and topographical.  The only other thing I recall about his last year was that someone had gone into his classroom looking for him one day, and found his gradebook sitting open on his desk.  Seeking only to write a quick note to Mr. H, the person couldn’t help but noticing the peculiar way in which Mr. H decided to grade his students.  Keep in mind that this was when we had actual (not virtual) gradebooks, where we kept record of student’s assignment scores in pencil, and were expected to do actual math to tabulate current grades.  Most teachers utilized some sort of recognizable numeric system, but not Mr. H.  In the place of numbers, he had archaic symbols, runes, and smiley faces, possibly the brilliant precursor to today’s emojis.  If this sort of thing were discovered today, he would be put on immediate administrative leave and most likely let go.

It was Mr. H’s turn to talk, and he stepped up to the podium with a plastic garbage bag.  Inside were various items he had collected and possibly used throughout his teaching career – props, really, for his last stage act.  And boy was he funny!  Not one word about himself, his philosophy, even about teaching.  He told stories about his students!  He had a motorcycle helmet that he wore for years when he used to ride.  He gave motorcycle rides after school to students and their friends. If this sort of thing were discovered today, he would be put on immediate administrative leave and most likely let go.

He had a handmade protest sign from long ago, created years ago when he was more active in the teacher’s union, back when teachers cared about issues and raised a stink when things didn’t go their way.  I laughed until I cried and still have no clue what any of his stories were about.  What a way to end a crazy, memorable career in service to people.  In service to kids.