For Mr. C

The dynamic nature of human emotions is such a fascinating thing.  Sometimes I wonder if we ever really feel just one thing at a time.  Regardless of my immediate circumstances I am usually experiencing a number of emotions all at once.  Or maybe it’s just that my mind is in a million places at the same time and I can’t keep my heart from trying to tag along.

Tonight I type through tears of sadness while my heart swells with pride.  A few hours ago I learned that my sixth grade teacher Mr. Dan Christensen, or “Mr. C” as he was lovingly called by students and colleagues alike, has passed away.  My heart aches for his family who has lost a true gentle giant of a husband and father, and yet I celebrate with joy all of the lives that he guided and inspired, including my own.

Mr. C had about as much presence as a man can possibly get.  His tall stature made him stand out in just about any crowd and his deep, booming voice made it impossible for him to go unnoticed.   Most days he wore a smile so big you couldn’t get around it and his laughter leapt out the two open doors of his classroom and echoed down the halls and across the playground.  For Mr. C teaching a lesson was about so much more than reading or talking.  He approached every concept with physicality – wide, outstretched arms and large steps that would take him back and forth across the front of the classroom dozens of times, keeping his students enthralled. It was as if he was so excited about our learning potential that he couldn’t contain himself enough to stand in one place.

But it’s not his height or the sound of his voice that Mr. C’s students will remember most, for those traits could never compare with the size of his heart.  Mr. C loved his students because he genuinely cared about people.  If you were talking to him there was never a doubt that he was fully invested in the conversation, but more so in the person. When you were in his presence he made sure you knew that you mattered.

About ten years ago I walked back onto the campus of Bonita Street Elementary School.  My baby sister was in the fifth grade and she was lucky enough to be in Mr. C’s class, so I jumped at the chance to attend “Back to School Night.”  After all his years of teaching and all the students who had passed through those doors, I knew there was no way he would remember me.  When we got to the classroom it was exactly as I had remembered it.  The walls were covered with inspirational sayings and photos that spanned the years of Mr. C’s career.  Since he was talking with a parent I decided to wait quietly while perusing the photos.  I smiled as I looked at all of the faces looking back at me who clearly knew, as I did, what a difference a great teacher makes.

As his conversation wrapped up and the parent walked away Mr. C looked across the room at me and said, “Hi there.”  I said, “I know you probably don’t remember me.”  After eighteen years and without missing a beat he smiled and said, “Carrie Fisher, how could I forget you?”   If ever there was a moment that restored my faith in humanity and gave me hope for caring in this dark world, that was it.

The reason my spirit soars high tonight in the midst of loss is that I know I am only one of many who found her way to that hope because of a teacher like Mr. C.  I am only one who was taught to look within to find value, only one who stumbled awkwardly into confidence because of a few gentle nudges from a caring soul.  Out in the world there are countless leaders, thinkers…and other teachers who found their path because of one man who told them they were worth it and then came back every day to prove it.

So tonight I cry because when you lose something of value it is painful.  But I also celebrate life and legacy because they will always outshine even the darkest night.

Thank you, Mr. C.