Immortality

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Sister Assumpta was my first grade school teacher. She taught me one of my most valuable life lessons—learn the rules well so that you can break them properly! Years later, as a brand new graduate, I remembered Sister's admonition as I tried to bathe 10 patients before 11:00 a.m. (one of the rules). Today, we would call leaving a bath to 2:00 p.m. prioritizing, but that concept had not yet been integrated into my curriculum and my consciousness.

My fundamental nursing instructor taught me how to teach. Besides introducing me to case studies and problem-oriented learning, she offered the astonishing insight that it was not only permissible to talk in class but also desirable—a revelation after 12 years of Catholic school where I was conditioned to believe that students are meant to be seen but not heard. Her patient case studies offered an approach to learning that was interactive and energizing. I still strive to emulate her engaging approach to teaching.

At New York University, I encountered an incredibly gifted statistics professor. He taught me two semesters of statistics without a single note in front of him and proved every theorem backward! His virtuosity and skill held me enthralled in each class. I wondered if I could ever achieve that level of subject mastery. His consummate skill helped me to understand that such a command of one's subject matter decreases boundaries in our teaching and promotes our ability to experiment and stray into new and unknown territories.

Dr. Clara Siggins captured my heart and mind as she validated my love of reading at Boston College. Her literary criticism courses remain a part of my life today through my book group of over 35 years and through my continuing forays into the world of letters. When my granddaughter recently asked for my help assessing a novel, I pulled Dr. Siggins construct from my memory banks. My granddaughter's response to her assignment prompted her teacher to ask her for a copy of the outline we used to critique the book she was reading. Dr. Siggins would have been delighted to know that her influence has extended through three generations in my family.

Our teachers and their wisdom become embedded in our DNA. They accompany us to every patient assignment, they guide our responses to our students, they encourage us to volunteer, and they inspire us to replicate their work. Great teachers have been immortalized through such literary and film works as Goodbye Mr. Chips, Mr. Holland's Opus, The Dead Poets Society, and To Sir, With Love and reflect the ongoing efforts of each and every one of us, as we strive, often against great odds, to produce ongoing generations of graduates. We work with students who have great potential, but who also have devastating life circumstances, making our work complex and nuanced. Every graduate is a reflection of our work and the work of every teacher who has influenced us.

It can be easy to get lost in the fatigue of preparation, the anguish of losing promising students, and the sure knowledge that there are problems that are incurable. I have found, however, that walking into a classroom, virtual or actual, transforms me into a reincarnation of Nightingale. I am 10-ft tall, I am a powerhouse of wisdom, I am a miracle worker, and I am part of that long line of educators, past, present, and future, that have the privilege of working with students.

“I touch the future…I teach.” When Christa McAuliffe uttered that phrase, she articulated an understanding of the importance and the immortality of our work. She spoke for each and every one of us who work with students then, now, and into the future. She gave new meaning to the value, delicacy, and multifaceted nature of teaching. She captured in a few words the endurance and significance of our efforts.