Real Talk
Growing up as the child of a teacher, I can vividly remember the early mornings. When I was a fresh new kindergartner, I would wake up eagerly to the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen. It would still be pitch black outside my bedroom curtains, but the kitchen light already shone bright like my own personal lighthouse down the hallway. My dad would nudge me awake, I’d put on whatever whimsical outfit I’d laid out the night before, and grab my emotional-support stuffed animal for the ride to school.
I remember those rides to school in my dad’s little blue car. Once I got into the car, it was always already warm. He’d have a full thermos of coffee in the cupholder and a bag of papers on the passenger seat floorboard. I looked forward to seeing which tie he’d chosen for that day — it was his own form of whimsy, like my dresses and hair bows. Once we arrived to the school, I’d get to spend a quick thirty minutes in his classroom before it began filling up — this was my cue to walk over to the elementary school, hand-in-hand with one of Dad’s most responsible students.
At 5 years old, being the daughter of a teacher was really cool.
Growing up as the teacher’s kid
As I got older, I realized more just how “famous” my dad was. When you teach 100 eighth grade students each day, for a decade plus, you become pretty well-known in a community of a few thousand.
“Your dad was my favorite teacher!”
“I loved having your dad as a coach!”
“How’s your dad?”
I only solidified my role as teacher’s daughter more as the years progressed. In fact, I occupied my very own seat in the second row of my dad’s classroom in middle school. At 12 years old, being the daughter of a teacher was kinda cringe…but also still really cool.
It was then that I formed my biased opinion that my dad was actually just as good as they all said. His superpower? He loved it. He enjoyed teaching — and it showed. He never sweated the small stuff, he disciplined only as much as necessary, and he was laser-focused on pre-algebra and his students.
His students — they were number one.
He didn’t just know them by name. He knew their parents and their siblings (most of which he also taught). He knew which ones struggled with fractions and which ones understood pythagorean theorem. He kept up with his student-athlete’s wins, and he showed up to every extra-curricular that he could.
I would know; I was there with him.
I was snagging free bags of popcorn from the concession stand when he coached basketball. I was on the front seat of the bus to and from robotics competitions. I knew my way around every math competition venue. I could work a copy machine like a pro, and I eavesdropped on one-too-many teacher gossip sessions.
Life lessons learned
It’s a unique but special experience to witness the behind-the-scenes of this teacher world. My dad never shielded me from any of it, and for that, I’m thankful. Sure, I may have spent too much time in the dirt behind the baseball field after school. I may have been a little too in-the-know about who was failing math and whose mom was mad about it. But I also learned a lot a valuable life lessons very early on.
That small blue car my dad drove? It often made a few stops on the way home, providing rides to the students or players whose parents were working late. And if one of them needed a jacket or a pair or shoes? Surely me or my brother had some extras — and if not, a trip to the thrift store would definitely solve it. There were many nights my dad spent at our tiny kitchen table tutoring kids who needed a little extra help. He was the best, after all.
Not to mention his excellent money management. Only now as an adult do I realize how little he made in comparison to those in other professions. As a child, I was certain we were rich. We never went without and we always had enough of anything, not only for us but also for friends. If we wanted to play a sport or join a club, it was always a yes. Oftentimes, teachers are not only resourceful in their work, but it positively bleeds into their home life. Teachers have a way of being selfless.
A lasting legacy
At 30 years old, being the daughter of a teacher is really cool. It taught me so much about life at a young age, formed an invaluable perspective, and always kept my eyes fixed on what’s really important. Now, as a parent myself, I’m thankful for the blueprint mapped out by my teacher parent.
My dad led by example, to both his kids and his students. If you’re a teacher with your own kids, they’re noticing the work that you do. And if you’re the child of a teacher, you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Although I always knew my dad did an extraordinary job in his role as a teacher, it wasn’t until last year that I truly understood the impact he had on each and every student he taught. The day of his celebration of life, students from his twenty-five plus years of teaching lined the hallways of the gymnasium where the celebration was held. With standing room only, former colleagues and students took turns speaking and reminiscing over the absolute passion and heart that my dad displayed throughout his career. He took pride in his role as a teacher — and it was purely evident that his impact was a big one.
As his daughter, it was a privilege to witness.
