To my 8th grade math teacher, Ms. Gough

Dear Ms. Gough,

I'm not sure you'll remember me, but I have a feeling you're one of those teachers who don't forget their students. In 2002, I came into your pre-algebra class with a pretty depressing track record from the years before. I even failed 6th grade math my first quarter at Jack Jouett Middle, so I wasn't expecting to do much better.

I will admit to you, I was a little scared of being in your class. Some of the kids were talking, and what they said about you wasn't too nice. Then again, nothing the kids at Jouett said was ever nice--especially the newly-minted 8th graders. After I failed your first pop quiz, I was sure you would blast me at parent-teacher night like my previous teachers, who told my mom I didn't work hard enough when I was really struggling to understand math. I lived in constant fear from one test to the next, knowing I'd have to bring home another F for my mom to sign.

I didn't know it then, but I was autistic and had a touch of Dyscalculia--a condition that makes numbers very difficult to grasp. I waited on tenterhooks that night for my mom to come home. When she did, she said that you told her I was smart and that I probably just had a 'mental block' on the quiz. I wondered how you knew I was smart after just one week in class. I knew I was smart, too; that's why the failure didn't make any sense. It felt like you had seen the struggle for which I did not yet have a name. I was relieved, but a bit worried that the mental blocks would never go away.

My mom signed me up for tutoring at The Learning Center, where I received help with worksheets and test prep. The weeks went on. As we passed from one unit to the next, I found I was actually doing decently. I started to relax a bit, with the fear of tests no longer ruling my life. I still heard the kids talking. They said awful things about your hair, and the fact that you yelled all the time. Even my friends would join in, and I may have giggled once but I never agreed with the things they said. True, you yelled a lot; but sometimes it was funny. One time, Barak crinkled paper to make noise while you were talking, and you got fed up and yelled "YOU TOUCH THAT PAPER ONE MORE TIME AND I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU EAT IT!!!" When he wouldn't eat the paper, you made him crawl under his desk and stay there for the rest of class. Everyone found it hilarious, except Barak.

You were always helping us out--even when we didn't deserve it. I saw you volunteer at the school dance parties, serving up pizza and soda. You counseled students one-on-one after school when they didn't understand a topic. You didn't realize, but I watched you in the hallways as you helped kids who forgot their homerooms and locker numbers. I saw how kind you were, in spite of all the cruelness, gossip and the purposeful aggravation. I wondered how you could stand the kids sometimes when they gave you a subtle Nazi salute instead of raising their hands.

Gosh, you were a saint. The yelling was 300% justified.

You know the biggest thing you taught me? It wasn't math. In truth, I don't remember a single topic we studied that year. I do remember one time, during a test, when I blanked out and you prompted me along until something clicked in my brain and I could keep going. Even though most teachers would've considered that cheating, you saw that I was close to getting it, and knew it would help me so much more than letting me flail and antagonize about another impending F. You showed me that people who might appear mean can have iron spirits and an unbeatable will to do good. You taught me that I can do hard things, and you believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. Before and after your class, I had teachers who never yelled and who were well-liked. But I didn't like them half as much as you.

I know that sometimes, I didn't work as hard as I should have. My 14-year-old M.O. was to avoid stress rather than deal with it head-on, so I spent a lot of time comforting myself with snacks and T.V. instead of studying. So at the end of the year, when you circled "advanced" on my recommendation sheet for 9th grade, I felt a bit undeserving of your faith in me. I want you to know that I've since cleaned up my act. I ended up attending a private prep high school, where grades were closely monitored. They beat the avoidance out of me, metaphorically speaking. With hard work and tutoring, I went on to earn straight A's in all subjects, including Geometry and Algebra II.

I've thought about you many times in the intervening years. I sometimes wonder if I should reach out. You are probably in your 70's now, and I am deep into adulthood (though I don't feel like it a lot of the time). I'm also Facebook friends with a some of the former students from Jouett. They're mainly good, hardworking folks who probably wouldn't have an ill word to say about you now, though they talked pretty good back then!

My final image is of you and all the teachers waving to the busses as we pulled out of the bus loop on our last day of middle school. There was no bitterness on that day, but I hope you didn't see some of the kids blowing raspberries out the window. When I think back on your unflappable kindness, I see now that you didn't let any of it get to you because you knew we would grow up someday.

I later found out you were a veteran teacher with 40+ years teaching 8th grade math. The yearbook had a picture of you with your students from the early 1980's, next to the announcement that you were retiring. My class was among the last crop of 8th graders you taught, and you handled us with practiced skill and experience. Forty years of 8th graders... I'm surprised the yelling wasn't worse, to be frank.

On that last day, I, in my small, timid way, gifted you a Snickers bar in your teacher's cubby, along with a Posted note that said "Have a cool summer, Ms. Gough :)" It wasn't much, but you knew I was always shy and a kid of few words. If I were to run into you today, I'd probably have a lot more to say--but I'd go home and write it all down for you:

I hope you're having the best life. I hope you're comfortable in your own home, safe from the present craziness of the world, and free of illness. Know that you were a pivotal person in my life, and probably many others', without realizing it. Know that some of us saw through the yelling, and saw you as you truly were: a hard-working teacher and wonderful person who was patient and kind, and who never expected anything back. Most of all, you never lost faith in the least of us.

And I hope you are able to look back on your eventful teaching career and remember the good moments, too.

Sincerely,

Almost all grown-up 8th grader, Hilary