We Touch the Future

Mark Nepper
Aug 9, 2017 · 5 min read

By Mark Nepper

Over the summer I attended a birthday party for a friend and colleague. Eric announced his party on Facebook AND invited all of his “friends.” Like many teachers his friend list includes many former students.

Eric hoped some former students might see the party as an opportunity to connect with classmates. The response bowled him over. Within days more than 250 former students said they would definitely attend his party.

“I’ve taught many students in my 20-year career,” Eric said. “I thought a few students might want to show up for this thing, and I would have been grateful to see any of them. But this is incredible. It’s going to be difficult to keep it all together at the party.”

“Eric,” I said, “This is your opus.”

He gave me a confused look.

“Have you seen ‘Mr. Holland’s Opus?’ Students from the span of Mr. Holland’s. career show up at his final concert to play the symphony he composed. The imbecilic school board had cut his position because of budget issues. Those students showed up to say ‘thanks.’

“They are doing the same for you. Embrace this because this is one of the clearest signs that you have touched lives. This, is your opus. ”

Early in my teaching career, my mom, a lifelong middle school teacher, gave me an inspirational book to read by the teacher astronaut Christa McAuliffe, who died in the Challenger explosion in 1986. McAuliffe famously said, “I touch the future. I teach.” As an educator I really connect with that message. I believe we truly do touch the future. Often, though, we don’t know how.

During the first retirement luncheon I attended at West High School in 1991, Orv Jaeger made this simple statement: “It takes a lot of spokes to turn the wheel. It takes a lot of teachers to turn the wheel. As individual teachers we won’t reach all of our students. But if we all work together, and keep turning that wheel, we can reach all of our students collectively.”

Teachers have come to me and said, “I see you have Maria in your class. Good luck with that!” Or, “James. That kid is a handful.” Then they freely dish all their difficulties and disappointments about the student. They presume they have enlightened me, which will make my life easier. I typically ignore them.

I reserve judgments about students and always try to get to know them before I decide anything about them. I wouldn’t take someone’s recommendation to buy a certain car and then buy it without ever test driving it. Similarly, I won’t take someone else’s anger or frustration over a student and make it my own.

If I am being completely honest with myself, though, I have done the same thing. I have tried to get acknowledgment from other teachers about the difficulties in dealing with a particular student. I do both the student and the teacher a disservice when I take that step.

The student may pose no difficulties whatsoever for the teacher Or the teacher connects with the student and becomes one of their favorite teachers, the kind where the student returns to visit many years past graduation. They were able to connect with a student I couldn’t. And the wheel turns.

Another friend of mine, who spent 35 years as a band director in a nearby small town, died far too soon of cancer. He also had worked with the university marching band for the same length of time. He knew a lot of people. Everybody respected and loved him. The school district allowed the family to hold the memorial service at the high school. More than 3,000 people stood in line to pay their respects for Bill. Not a single person around me in line complained.

Another friend stood with me. “All of these people are here to pay respects, and many of them are former students.” He paused.

“Is this what it’s like in your job? You know this many people who would come back for your funeral? You have this kind of effect on your students?” He asked in disbelief

I just nodded.

As teachers we have the incredible opportunity to touch the future.

We all have gotten those notes from former students that we keep in a file folder or shoe box. Sometimes they seemingly come out of nowhere, but they make our day. A student emails: “So last night as I accepted an award for this accomplishment (in my field). In my acceptance speech I thanked you for introducing me with such passion to this field and always encouraging me to reach for my dreams.” Or as you congratulate a former student on some recent success — thank goodness for social media — that student thanks us for igniting that passion in them. Or in one day you get two thank you notes from students who sat in your class 10 years earlier, and while they don’t remember much about English 10, they do remember that it was an atmosphere that allowed them to fall in love, and years later they rekindled that love and are now about to get married. We touch the future.

We also can touch the future in negative ways, often without even realizing it, especially in the moment. During a discussion I pushed a student to go further and define her positions on a social issue. I tried to encourage her to think more deeply and defend her position. Without knowing it, I pushed too hard. She shut down and never again participated in class discussions. At the end of the semester she wrote me a scathing letter about how much I hurt her that day and how she despised arrogant people like me who think they know everything. I lost that student and in the aftermath have always regretted that interaction.

Sometimes we touch the future negatively because of misperceptions. A student this year refused to say hello to me because after reading my suggestions on how to improve his piece of writing, he concluded I didn’t like him. He later talked to me about his anger at me, and how he found writing excruciating afterward. He refused to adjust his thinking about me. To him, I was a bad teacher and likely always will be, and writing became a chore for him.

Orv was right. It takes many spokes to turn the wheel. We all just have to work to ensure that it keeps turning. From our days of play, though, we also know that if we jam a stick into a turning wheel, we can stop it from spinning. Almost immediately.

We touch the future, and the future is fragile. We must always remember what we do can have positive or negative consequences. We don’t always know the exact impact we have. I remain hopeful, though, that I have affected my students’ lives in positive rather than negative ways. If students live better lives because of our connection and our work, and that should always be the goal, we have done something transformative.

As teachers, we carry a great responsibility. We touch the future.

Mark Nepper

Written by

Mark is an English teacher at West High School and a director of the Greater Madison Writing Project.