I read an article in the local paper a few minutes ago about my former high school science teacher. He was found by a coworker last year, conscious but disoriented on his classroom floor. It appeared that he'd fallen and hit his head. I don't think anyone is sure of exactly what caused this, but he was taken for emergency brain surgery. Came through it remarkably well and it appeared it he was going to recover. He was learning to walk again and was doing well, but needed some more surgery to install some plates in his head. After that, he suffered some strokes, and his family has now made the decision to take him off life support.
I can't say I was ever close to the man, but I did like him a great deal. He knew I was interested in astronomy and would frequently bring me articles and information on new discoveries and space missions, although I was a student in his basic Earth Sciences class. My brain doesn't deal well with most numeric and scientific information and I was relegated to remedial science courses, but he never treated me as if I was stupid. He saw that I was genuinely interested in things like astronomy and botany and always tried to make whatever we happened to be working on interesting for me in a real-world context.
I think what I remember most about him is the way he spoke to me. He never talked down to me, although I was a pretty dumb kid and close to retarded when it came to the subject he was trying to teach me (and often failing. I barely passed the required year of biology and earth science and never took any sciences after that). But he talked to me as if I was a friend rather than a slightly less than mediocre student, and I'll always be grateful to him for that. I was in his classes during a really rough time in my life, right around when I was kicked out of my parents' house for good. He had a general knowledge of what was going on, but never brought it up. Instead he'd talk to me about the different types of trees and climates they grew in best, planets and nebulae and galaxies. And, when we somehow got on the topic of Japan one day, he'd talk to me about just about anything related. He was the faculty adviser for the Science Club, and at the meetings he'd show us anime he found particularly good both in story and art style. He coordinated bus trips from school to awesome places like the Shedd Aquarium and museums in Chicago, and he always seemed so damn HAPPY to say hi to his students in the halls. He loved his job and it was obvious, and while I'm certain I wasn't his best student nor his favorite, he made me feel like I was.
I regret now that I wasn't closer to him. I could have been, most likely, since we did have some of the same interests and he was an incredibly easy man to talk to. But I never did, because I never did with anyone.
To be honest I hadn't thought of him in years, before reading the article about his initial incident in November. And then, when it seemed like he'd recover, I stopped thinking about him again. Now, knowing that he's not going to be long for this world, I can't stop myself from feeling guilty that I didn't get to know him better, or ever tell him how thankful I am for the respect and friendship he showed me during a very dark time in my life. He was one of the few adults, even to this day, that ever made me feel equal, and I'm surprised how much of that has stuck with me. It's been a decade since I graduated and I can still remember the sense of security I had after talking to him, even about something as insignificant as anime or deciduous trees.
I will mourn him, and I will remember him as one of the bright spots in a childhood and adolescence that sucked most of the time. He has a baby daughter, and I really hope that people tell her as much as they can remember about him. He was a wonderful man and I was lucky enough to know him, in however limited a fashion I actually did. He has had a profound influence and effect on my life, even if it took me years and a tragedy to realize it.
I hope he gets all the commendation he deserves for being such a great educator, friend and human being.
Link to Moline Dispatch article: http://qconline.com/archives/qco/display.php?id=544905
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