I spent way too much time fretting about my “teaching philosophy,” which I finally had to file with the University of Missouri after 15 years of teaching here, and which you can read about in my previous post. The actual writing of it was a chore, as writing can be. Thinking about it brought joy because it allowed me to think about the amazing teachers, of all stripes, I’ve had in my life.

And, as these things tend to do, it raised my radar for related things. Like this tribute by John Dickerson, published in Slate, to his 10th grade English teacher, Neal Tonken.

Tonken’s influence on his students was deep and lasting. Dickerson’s story about him brought me to my emotional knees — both because of how well it was written and because how clear it was about who Tonken really was. I was floored by the simple brilliance of Tonken’s peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich assignment. And expect I’ll soon steal … uh, I mean, borrow … it, or try to create my own version. I’d go with how to tie your shoes, but Velcro seems to trump that these days. So… How to brush your teeth? How to boil an egg? How to fold panties? (There’s a backstory to that last one that is hysterical, and dear. And the pantie picture above is from a walk through Shanghai, where store windows are their own stories.)

The key to all of this is something I yearn to achieve as a teacher, writer, editor … a rare combination of pure clarity and pure inspiration. The Tonken Dickerson writes about never apologized for his expectations. Nor did he waiver in his support.

I’ve had those people in my life. Maybe not all at once, or in one package. Or in ways I recognized at the time. So knowing how Tonken sent people forward helps me to reach backwards and find ways to stitch some threads of simple brilliance.