The teacher who worked my butt off

Rarely do we want to thank the teachers who make us work the hardest and sweat the most until the opportunity has passed us by.

After I changed schools in third grade, I don't know what became of Mrs. Townsend, my first grade teacher.

Although I've missed my chance to thank her in person, it's never to late to express heartfelt gratitude for teachers like her in hopes that it inspires all teachers to make bratty, smart kids work harder. If I knew where she was now, this is the letter I would send her:

Dear Mrs. Townsend,

Even though you must have touched hundreds of little lives over the course of your long teaching career, I have faith your heart is big enough to remember us all. I was the really short girl with the really long hair who used to send love notes on paper airplanes to the boy with the perpetually runny nose. If that doesn't ring a bell, you might also remember me as the girl who would not, absolutely flat-out refused, to do her board work.

Every day, you carefully copied our assignment onto the chalkboard (this was long before classrooms came equipped with dry erase technology). Sometimes it was a handwriting or fill-in-the-blank exercise, sometimes arithmetic. And we had to complete our board work on the wide-lined paper you loving passed out before the lunch bell rang. You stressed that no matter what else we had to do, board work was sacred-the first and most important thing we had to do to start our busy day. And no matter what you put on the chalkboard for us to complete, I hated it.

Yes, Mrs. Townsend, I liked your board work about as much as cats like bubble baths. So, I just stopped doing it one day. For the first couple of missing board work assignments, I pretended like I merely forgot. Being labeled a "smart kid" seemed to be an invitation for teachers to spoil me and give me the benefit of the doubt whether I deserved it or not, and I took advantage of your good nature and affection for me.

Fortunately, you caught on quickly as my excuses got lamer every day. The harder I resisted, the more you pushed. You stood up to me in all my precocious cuteness and insisted I do the work you knew I was perfectly capable (however unwilling) of doing. You even got my mother in on your quest to make me a more dedicated student. Under such teacherly authority, I was forced to back down and admit I lost the power struggle I was destined to lose.

Even though it felt like busy work, and even though I hated it, I made myself do the board work to appease you (and my mother). And I know losing that battle made me a better person and better student in the long run.

Because of you, Mrs. Townsend, I purposely sought out the professors with the most anal-retentive, labor-intensive reputations in college.

Because of you, I knew the best teachers would be the ones who would cut me no slack, hear no excuses and work my butt off from day one through final exams.

Because of you, I was never afraid of the teachers who pulled no punches to make me learn, because I knew they genuinely cared about making me a better human being in the process.

Thank you, Mrs. Townsend, for contributing so much to my development at such an early age, and giving me a swift kick in the rear to propel me through the rest of my school years.

Sincerely,

Cortney Philip