DOT

Today is the day we celebrate "The Day of the Teacher" at my school. "DOT" for short. It's all a part of being a professional educator and knowing your TLA's. Three Letter Acronyms. If you look on the calendar, you might see that some locales have May 5th as DOT, while others have a whole WOT. Week of the Teacher.
And that seems about right to me. Considering the number of teachers we all have had, formally and informally, it's probably worth taking a moment or two to pause and acknowledge the contributions they have made in our lives. I say this because not only am I knee deep in the hoopla of education, I feel like I have been profoundly affected by those who took the time to share their knowledge.
For example: Mister Gauthier taught me math in the eighth grade. That was when I was still on target to be in the upper division classes. He was a crusty old coot. He told you things about algebra and geometry like he couldn't believe that he had to explain it, and then he would. He is also the guy who, in the middle of a test while we were all hunched silently over our desks, crept on top of a chair in the back of the room holding a trash can out at arm's length. When the silence was most profound, he let the can go, resulting in a thunderous crash, squeals of terror, gasps of surprise, followed by a tumultuous release of tension.
Mister Clements taught me geography in seventh grade. Not everybody liked Mister Clements, but I will always remember how he taught me about perspective. He drew a picture on the board of a tree with a leaf falling from one of its branches. He asked us all to choose the answer that best described the direction that the leaf was falling: A) North, B) South, C) East, D) Down. Being very clever and knowing that I was in geography, I chose B. Only a few lucky guesses got the correct answer: D. Never assume, he told us.
I assumed that I was in for a tough year with Missus Pyle. Her name alone conjured up feelings of dread. I had been spoiled by being the star of Miss Hoff's second grade class, and now third grade loomed as an unbearable challenge. Everyone knew Missus Pyle was "tough." What I didn't know was that she was a fine teacher. Across the hall, Missus Dillon was tying kids to their chairs when they acted out. Nobody ever imagined anything like that happening in Missus Pyle's class. She just wouldn't stand for it. It was never a question. We did as we were told and we learned everything there was to know about third grade.
The list goes on. Jeff Arnett who taught me "the habit of a pen." Miss Kunesh who taught me to "always use my mistakes." Even Mister Schemp, who taught me to hate P.E., eventually taught me to be a better P.E. teacher. To all of them and the rooms full of educators whose names I have yet to list, thank you and HDOT.