The stories I wish were being told tonight

Jessie Bazan
Aug 9, 2017 · 2 min read

“Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can’t remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story.” — Tim O’Brien, The Things They Carried

He was a storyteller. He loved a good story — and he passed that on to 16-year-old me. So the most fitting way I can think of to grieve his death tonight is to share a few stories, stories that expand the narrative being told by the media.

Tonight I wish people were reading stories about how students who came into his American Lit class not giving two shits about The Catcher in the Rye left arguing over Holden Caulfield’s biggest flaws. Or how he volunteered to lead Kairos retreats year after year. Or the knack he had for making kids on the outside believe that we mattered. I wish people were talking about the weeks he spent every April welding graduation presents for those outsider kids, reminding us that we’re never alone. Or how he sold hand-woven crosses to raise money for students who wanted to go on the school trip to Ireland but couldn’t afford it. Or the time he started praying the Our Father after a fire scare and an entire auditorium of high schoolers fell silent. God, I wish people knew the teacher who coached my own voice out of me, who encouraged me to write what I believed, not just what I thought people wanted me to believe. I wish they knew the friend who gave me a big hug just a few weeks ago and asked how my family was doing.

These are the stories I wish were being told. Right now, people scrolling through the New York Post on their phones or watching the nightly news are seeing headlines like “Teacher found dead after being accused of sexual contact with student.” I hate that this is the only story most of the world will hear. 250 words or a 30-second clip doesn’t do anyone’s story justice.

Respected. Beloved. Intelligent. Attuned. These are the words I would use in my story about Mr. Christian Tomsey. Mine are some of thousands of stories from hundreds of students that flocked to the Pubs room over the last twelve years at Dominican and were in some way changed by the man leaning against the desk in his leather coat.

Thanks for teaching me what stories are for, CT. Rest in peace.

    Jessie Bazan

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