Life Lessons in Patience, Humor, and Kindness. Thank you, Mr. Simmons!

In this post, I want to diverge from my usual posts about mediation, restorative justice, and the work I’m doing with the law and talk about patience, humor, and kindness. Today, I am going to share one of my teachers. And in doing so, I want to show appreciation and, at the same time, honor this teacher and all of those who tirelessly work to teach us the impossible every single day. I have something important to say about them: their dedication, their ability to inspire, and how they often teach more than the curriculum. 

A watercolor I painted for my biology class my senior year of high school.

After all, my family has included teachers for decades. My great-grandparents taught down in Floyd and Patrick County, Virginia.  My father was a teacher and eventually became a school principal and associate superintendent.  My son and nephews are both elementary school teachers.  I know what sacrifices it takes to be a teacher and have appreciated teachers my whole life. 

My appreciation for teachers also comes from having some amazing teachers in my life. I remember many of them very well. Louise Brown taught fourth grade and created a special packet of materials for every student every week. She helped me find an international pen pal and encouraged me to write and direct plays. Decades later, Marie Ashe and Jim Elkins nurtured my creativity in law school and encouraged me to push the boundaries.  

Recently, I was reminded about the complexity of the lessons we learn from our teachers. In high school, I was a theater and art student who enjoyed English and Social Studies. I did not like math and barely tolerated science.  Imagine my surprise last week to receive an email from my high school biology teacher’s son, Brett Simmons, who found a group of watercolor paintings I created in Edgar Simmons’ belongings that he had kept all these years!  I don’t remember painting them, but as an adult, I can imagine that I was not terribly interested in Latin terms for plants or structures of cells, but Mr. Simmons didn’t give up on me. He must have figured out that he could keep my interest, not by punishing me, threatening me, or giving me a bad grade, but by finding what I was interested in, exercising some creativity and humor, and showing me the way to understand biology through art.

This got me thinking about what I learned from Mr. Simmons. I rummaged through some of my old things and found some black and white photos from the last days of my Senior year.  I was not surprised to see the photos of my two art teachers (Virginia Daughtery and Howard Mallard), my theater teacher (Greg Huddleston), and my social studies teacher (Jean Lewis).  But there among those is a photo of Mr. Simmons, and it’s exactly the way I remember him.  Smiling in a way where he is amused by his students and, at the same time, figuring out how to encourage us to do better.  I then investigated my yearbook, and there was Mr. Simmons’ inscription. His message to me read, “I enjoyed having you in Biology.  Remember how hard you worked and your perfect attendance record. HA!  Wishing success and happiness, Ed Simmons.”   

Yes, I do recall missing a class or two, and I don’t recall being able to tolerate memorizing Latin terms or understanding cellular construction.  

I am guessing that this was an illustration of a cellular construction included in the artwork that Brett found.

Mr. Simmons!  I am so moved that you kept those watercolor paintings that you may have assigned to create at least a little interest in a subject that couldn’t compete in my world with theater, art, writing, and politics.  

What an incredible reminder this is for me of what it means to be a dedicated teacher. And what great lessons are taught when great teachers teach by example, far beyond memorizing and coloring in bubbles on a test sheet. Mr. Simmons and many other teachers do more than a job when they create lifelong lessons and contributions and attachments to their students.   

Mr. Simmons passed away last summer, but this 17-year-old student who hated biology, skipped a lot of classes, and doesn't remember much about biology is carrying a big piece of this wonderful man in my heart. I appreciate Brett reminding me and offering to send me the watercolors. I will hang one in my office, even though I’m not terribly impressed with the aesthetic.

I am going to hold onto that part of Mr. Simmons that is still deep in my heart.  And when I find myself losing patience with my work, myself, or the people I work with, I'm going to look at one of those watercolors. And I’m going to remember the kindness, humor, and patience this wonderful teacher showed to me.  

Mr. Simmons on an ordinary day in Biology class, probably in the spring of 1977.