Rest in Soft Peace, Mr. Dickens
One of the greatest men I ever met died yesterday.
He was the type of person that if only you could be half as great, half as compassionate and half as anything, you'd be a stunning success in life.
He was my grade eight band teacher. Without him, I wouldn't be the me of today. He was one of the first teachers to recognize that even dirt poor, socially awkward, and white trash me had some talent. He believed everyone had talent. That everyone could achieve great things if they only tried. And he's insult you in creative and endlessly amusing ways if he thought you were not living up to your full potential.
He challenged me to strive for better all the time. It didn't matter that I wasn't one of the popular kids, beautiful, socially graceful. In that band room, I found real friends for the first time and he was one of them.
During those first few weeks in high school, a few friends and I decided to be crazy and join the Stage Band (Jazz band to everyone else in the world). Even though we were the youngest members out of a group so skilled that they challenged and beat some of the top schools in the country, Mr. Dickens never doubted that we'd fit in. He simply arranged our own special practice hour away from the group so that we could catch up so to speak. Fridays at 3:30. A time he learned to regret, since keeping thirteen year olds after school was not quite a bright idea right before the weekend. He never let us use our age or our inexperience to hold us back. Hell, he gave me and the other alto first chair for a festival piece in our first term and simply said, "learn it". And we did.
He was both the father of our band, our brother and our mentor. When we travelled, he played pranks on us. I still remember the day he used crash symbols to wake up the trio of grade eight boys I was a part of at 5:00AM. He was tenacious, vibrant, rude, cantankerous and we all loved him.
At the end of the year, he recognized me at the top music student in my grade. This was before awards were a common occurrence in my life. This was when I truly believed I was ordinary, boring and worthless. But I was one of his kids and he did so much to encourage me.
That evening, when I received that award, I was called up again, with my other fellow grade eights from stage band. All four of us stood up at the front of the room trembling as his eyes glinted with that mischievous sheen that meant we were all about to be plunged into some good old public humiliation. He pointed to me. "She was the ref... she can sit." I fled.
He picked out two of the boys, told the audience how they used to fight all the time, running around on Friday afternoons, screaming, hitting, almost breaking instruments. Fridays, Mr. Dickens said, were the worst mistake of his life. He told us how the two boys were so stubborn that they could never agree on anything and he brought out two shirts, each embroidered with the slogan "The Last Word". They were to wear these when our new teacher arrived in the fall, to give him a warning of what was to come. He then send one of the boys to sit down. He recounted more stories of scared lost boys in the US, almost missing their bus home, waking up in an empty auditorium. Then there was only one boy left. This last kid received a boom. A push boom, in fact, engraved with the words "The Greatest Camel Dung Sweeper in Arabia" for the boy had a tendency to introduce himself as X the Great to all he encountered. Upon hearing his in September, Mr. Dickens replied, "The greatest what? Camel Dung Sweeper of Arabia?" The name stuck. All of this was a surprise. All of this was bought with his own money.
And then Mr. Dickens retired.
But he didn't disappear from my life. Because of him, I actually believed I could do things. That just because I was raised in the family I was born into, didn't meant I couldn't achieve the same things all the rich kids from on top of the hill could. At thirteen, this was an invaluable lesson.
He also followed me in life. When I couldn't afford music camp, he paid for it personally. Only I was never supposed to find out. I had to go searching in the camp's office for my donor while all the officials were at lunch. It didn't surprise me in the least.
Mr. Dickens also couldn't stay away from the music community. He had retired when his health started to suffer, so instead he got involved with the School Board. He advocated for change, for the promotion of music in schools. He was a part of the provincial music association. He conducted the community band I later became a part of. He was a major official in the city's annual summer music camp.
Even when he was supposed to be taking it easy, he refused to settle down. He simply found new ways of making a difference, only this time without grading.
Four years later I reached the crowning moment of my musical career. I was ranked best in the province. I had just completed a solo in the showcase song in front of close to a thousand music officials and stakeholders from all around the province. Our guest conductor, one of the best in the world, bowed to me, the greatest honour a soloist can receive. I saw Mr. Dickens after that concert and shyly made my way up to him to talk. I told him that everything I had done that night was thanks to him and I truly believed that. I still do. He, however, refused to accept my words. He gave me one of his joking rebuttals and told me to stop being so silly. I had to leave soon after, but I know from the way he talked and moved that he was proud of me. And that was what mattered.
I could go on and on about this man. He was so unique and full of stories. He was hilarious, impish and dedicated to everything he did. He was one of the most important people in my life, leading me to find the faith in myself that I could become better if only I kept pushing.
Thank you, Mr. Dickens. I wish I could say it to your face once again. I wish I could be there to send you off. I wish the world didn't have to go on without you because it is made lesser by your death.
Rest in soft peace, Mr. Dickens, where the music never stops, and your afternoons are free from the squabbles of teenagers until you find another group to tutor wherever it is you've ended up.
He was the type of person that if only you could be half as great, half as compassionate and half as anything, you'd be a stunning success in life.
He was my grade eight band teacher. Without him, I wouldn't be the me of today. He was one of the first teachers to recognize that even dirt poor, socially awkward, and white trash me had some talent. He believed everyone had talent. That everyone could achieve great things if they only tried. And he's insult you in creative and endlessly amusing ways if he thought you were not living up to your full potential.
He challenged me to strive for better all the time. It didn't matter that I wasn't one of the popular kids, beautiful, socially graceful. In that band room, I found real friends for the first time and he was one of them.
During those first few weeks in high school, a few friends and I decided to be crazy and join the Stage Band (Jazz band to everyone else in the world). Even though we were the youngest members out of a group so skilled that they challenged and beat some of the top schools in the country, Mr. Dickens never doubted that we'd fit in. He simply arranged our own special practice hour away from the group so that we could catch up so to speak. Fridays at 3:30. A time he learned to regret, since keeping thirteen year olds after school was not quite a bright idea right before the weekend. He never let us use our age or our inexperience to hold us back. Hell, he gave me and the other alto first chair for a festival piece in our first term and simply said, "learn it". And we did.
He was both the father of our band, our brother and our mentor. When we travelled, he played pranks on us. I still remember the day he used crash symbols to wake up the trio of grade eight boys I was a part of at 5:00AM. He was tenacious, vibrant, rude, cantankerous and we all loved him.
At the end of the year, he recognized me at the top music student in my grade. This was before awards were a common occurrence in my life. This was when I truly believed I was ordinary, boring and worthless. But I was one of his kids and he did so much to encourage me.
That evening, when I received that award, I was called up again, with my other fellow grade eights from stage band. All four of us stood up at the front of the room trembling as his eyes glinted with that mischievous sheen that meant we were all about to be plunged into some good old public humiliation. He pointed to me. "She was the ref... she can sit." I fled.
He picked out two of the boys, told the audience how they used to fight all the time, running around on Friday afternoons, screaming, hitting, almost breaking instruments. Fridays, Mr. Dickens said, were the worst mistake of his life. He told us how the two boys were so stubborn that they could never agree on anything and he brought out two shirts, each embroidered with the slogan "The Last Word". They were to wear these when our new teacher arrived in the fall, to give him a warning of what was to come. He then send one of the boys to sit down. He recounted more stories of scared lost boys in the US, almost missing their bus home, waking up in an empty auditorium. Then there was only one boy left. This last kid received a boom. A push boom, in fact, engraved with the words "The Greatest Camel Dung Sweeper in Arabia" for the boy had a tendency to introduce himself as X the Great to all he encountered. Upon hearing his in September, Mr. Dickens replied, "The greatest what? Camel Dung Sweeper of Arabia?" The name stuck. All of this was a surprise. All of this was bought with his own money.
And then Mr. Dickens retired.
But he didn't disappear from my life. Because of him, I actually believed I could do things. That just because I was raised in the family I was born into, didn't meant I couldn't achieve the same things all the rich kids from on top of the hill could. At thirteen, this was an invaluable lesson.
He also followed me in life. When I couldn't afford music camp, he paid for it personally. Only I was never supposed to find out. I had to go searching in the camp's office for my donor while all the officials were at lunch. It didn't surprise me in the least.
Mr. Dickens also couldn't stay away from the music community. He had retired when his health started to suffer, so instead he got involved with the School Board. He advocated for change, for the promotion of music in schools. He was a part of the provincial music association. He conducted the community band I later became a part of. He was a major official in the city's annual summer music camp.
Even when he was supposed to be taking it easy, he refused to settle down. He simply found new ways of making a difference, only this time without grading.
Four years later I reached the crowning moment of my musical career. I was ranked best in the province. I had just completed a solo in the showcase song in front of close to a thousand music officials and stakeholders from all around the province. Our guest conductor, one of the best in the world, bowed to me, the greatest honour a soloist can receive. I saw Mr. Dickens after that concert and shyly made my way up to him to talk. I told him that everything I had done that night was thanks to him and I truly believed that. I still do. He, however, refused to accept my words. He gave me one of his joking rebuttals and told me to stop being so silly. I had to leave soon after, but I know from the way he talked and moved that he was proud of me. And that was what mattered.
I could go on and on about this man. He was so unique and full of stories. He was hilarious, impish and dedicated to everything he did. He was one of the most important people in my life, leading me to find the faith in myself that I could become better if only I kept pushing.
Thank you, Mr. Dickens. I wish I could say it to your face once again. I wish I could be there to send you off. I wish the world didn't have to go on without you because it is made lesser by your death.
Rest in soft peace, Mr. Dickens, where the music never stops, and your afternoons are free from the squabbles of teenagers until you find another group to tutor wherever it is you've ended up.