anyone from mixter?
I just came across some very sad news. My favorite teacher ever, Mrs. Dehring, just passed away. I don't know any of the details, but I saw her a few months back and she was actually very ill, but still cheerful and as funny as ever. As surreal as seeing her for the last time was, it has got to be one of the most pleasant surprises I'd had in a while.
Mrs. Dehring was my teacher for 3rd and 4th grade. I was one of maybe a handful of kids that she'd ever taught for two years, and the others, at the time, included some of my best friends in those days. I count myself among one of the many who have benefitted from having her involved in their lives.
You see, I was an overachiever academically, but I was actually supposed to be a Special Needs kid. I think this is the first time I've ever really come out and admitted it. I was always very socially withdrawn and uptight, and never liked to be in the spotlight. I took life far too seriously. She always did her best to challenge me to fail once in a while. Not deliberately, of course. But she taught me that I should take home one of my rare D-grades and have my parents post it on the fridge. Learning to accept failures and take it in stride is one of the things that makes us better people. More importantly, she always forced me to have a laugh, and embrace the spotlight for reasons other than accomplishment. One time I gave a speech on coyotes, and made a coyote noise, and any time I got too uptight, she used to make me "do that Wolf-boy voice". Thanks to her, more than anyone else, I'm a bit of a comedian. I certainly don't take life too seriously, and I owe the bulk of my happiness to her influence.
I know that she certainly did everything in her power to draw out the best in everyone, both academically and personally. Even the trouble-makers in her class had reason to smile every once in a while; she made sure to praise them for doing things right, instead of chastising them for their mistakes. Her teaching methods were certainly not orthodox; everything seemed to be a fun twist on tradition. She loved her music, and also insisted that "A Twinkie a day keeps the doctor away."
Her death certainly has gotten me thinking a lot about my life in general. I'm almost certain that becoming a professor of psychology is in the cards for me after I retire from clinical work; I'd love to make that same kind of difference she's made. I'm also really thinking about how glad I am to still have my mom. Mrs. Dehring retired from teaching mainly because of a disease that acted similar to what my mom had, which involved a lot of nerve pain, and left her basically bed-ridden. My mom got better right around the time I got out of middle school, and has a normal life again. And I feel very lucky that such a horrible situation has turned out for the better for her. Just as prominently, I'm thinking about how different of a person I would have turned out to be. I'm certain that I wouldn't be the type of person to make friends with, at least not as enthusiastically. And I'm certain that the passions of my life would be left unpursued, the trials of my life would have left me burned out and hopeless.
We should all be so lucky to have a Mrs. Dehring in our lives to appreciate.
Carolyn Dehring, rest in peace.
Mrs. Dehring was my teacher for 3rd and 4th grade. I was one of maybe a handful of kids that she'd ever taught for two years, and the others, at the time, included some of my best friends in those days. I count myself among one of the many who have benefitted from having her involved in their lives.
You see, I was an overachiever academically, but I was actually supposed to be a Special Needs kid. I think this is the first time I've ever really come out and admitted it. I was always very socially withdrawn and uptight, and never liked to be in the spotlight. I took life far too seriously. She always did her best to challenge me to fail once in a while. Not deliberately, of course. But she taught me that I should take home one of my rare D-grades and have my parents post it on the fridge. Learning to accept failures and take it in stride is one of the things that makes us better people. More importantly, she always forced me to have a laugh, and embrace the spotlight for reasons other than accomplishment. One time I gave a speech on coyotes, and made a coyote noise, and any time I got too uptight, she used to make me "do that Wolf-boy voice". Thanks to her, more than anyone else, I'm a bit of a comedian. I certainly don't take life too seriously, and I owe the bulk of my happiness to her influence.
I know that she certainly did everything in her power to draw out the best in everyone, both academically and personally. Even the trouble-makers in her class had reason to smile every once in a while; she made sure to praise them for doing things right, instead of chastising them for their mistakes. Her teaching methods were certainly not orthodox; everything seemed to be a fun twist on tradition. She loved her music, and also insisted that "A Twinkie a day keeps the doctor away."
Her death certainly has gotten me thinking a lot about my life in general. I'm almost certain that becoming a professor of psychology is in the cards for me after I retire from clinical work; I'd love to make that same kind of difference she's made. I'm also really thinking about how glad I am to still have my mom. Mrs. Dehring retired from teaching mainly because of a disease that acted similar to what my mom had, which involved a lot of nerve pain, and left her basically bed-ridden. My mom got better right around the time I got out of middle school, and has a normal life again. And I feel very lucky that such a horrible situation has turned out for the better for her. Just as prominently, I'm thinking about how different of a person I would have turned out to be. I'm certain that I wouldn't be the type of person to make friends with, at least not as enthusiastically. And I'm certain that the passions of my life would be left unpursued, the trials of my life would have left me burned out and hopeless.
We should all be so lucky to have a Mrs. Dehring in our lives to appreciate.
Carolyn Dehring, rest in peace.