I’ve never been great at expressing — or receiving — sincere gratitude. 

I’ve had my moments, though. I remember leading the teacher-appreciation-week-charge during my senior year of high school. I was president of my school’s National Honors Society (to the lasting disgust of the poindexter who ran against me), and in that capacity I had all the members choose a teacher for whom they would purchase a gift and write a note. I provided expensive chocolates and a thoughtfully written card to my teacher, a veteran member of the math department who also happened to be my current pre-calculus teacher, which I think may have affected my choosing her. She was pleased, and I was happy she was pleased. I took the responsibility seriously. When I found out my friend had forgotten to buy her teacher a gift, I scolded her so harshly we got into what turned into a very emotional spat right there at the lockers, ending with her turning her back to me and storming away. The next day I brought her a package of the same expensive chocolates as a mea culpa (it worked). 

But overall, as a student I felt that appreciation for teachers was tough to adequately express without it seeming perfunctory or calculated. After all, I reasoned, it was tough to know just how impactful a teacher really was without the benefit of hindsight. 

I’ve lightened up a little bit since then. When I was hired at Champe in 2017, I was asked to attend a week-long professional development in Sterling during the last week of July. It was led by a pair of retired educators who toured the country preaching their gospel of structured classroom management strategies. It was old-fashioned, unflashy, and founded on a few core beliefs, the first of which being that every student wants to look good in front of his/her peers. The main speaker, John, was decidedly not unflashy. He had plenty of flash to burn. He was a born storyteller, a man who loved the stage and an audience of educators, even if most of them were reluctant to be giving up an entire week to be with him. He mentioned his love of horseback riding and ranching, which clashed with his salesman’s mustache and cheap suits (he looked like he’d be more at home selling you a used car than saddling up on a horse). In any event, their instructional philosophy was exactly what I needed to hear at that point in my career. I took pages of notes during the week-long session, vowing to implement as many of these strategies as possible in my own classroom. As a token of my thanks, on the day of our final class I gave John a gift: a copy of Thomas McGuane’s essay collection Some Horses. He was grateful.      

During the school year I try to make time for a short unit on the rhetoric of sincere appreciation. This usually happens around Christmas. I have an activity that I started at the alternative school, a letter to a good person. I pitch it to the students as a money-saving activity: a well written letter of gratitude is more valuable and impactful than any purchased gift. Students often write it to a parent as a Christmas gift. This year I bought a wax stamp to make it look extra classy. Invariably students return from Christmas break with stories of tears and hugs after the letter was read. 

With my AP students this year, I tinkered with the directions slightly, making them focus on specific reasons why they are grateful for that person, while also making them conceal any indication that this was an assignment for class, further heightening the intended emotional effect on the recipient. The floor was for the letter to be at the very least heart-warming

I don’t claim the assignment to be particularly original, but I’d like to think my rant about the cheapness of hollow words with which I bookend the assignment is. No one, I mutter to my students, gripping the lectern for dramatic emphasis, wants to read a note containing a few trite phrases. Maybe in the future I should qualify that I don’t want that, as an English teacher who is tasked with pushing students to express original ideas. It takes work to express sincere gratitude. 

This week, during a time in which the world is dealing with more immediate concerns, it seemed extra superfluous to receive kind words from parents, students, and administrators. If there’s been a consistent sentiment I’ve noticed from fellow teachers, it’s been a frustration that there’s not more they can do. Last night an administrator sent me an email, describing specific reasons why I was a valued member of the staff (a challenging prompt if there ever was one). I was deeply moved, and then briefly tempted to show it to my Lang students as an example of writing that contains specific evidence with a line of reasoning that proves a thesis.   

It made me continue reminiscing on my own attempts at expressing appreciation, the successes — and a notable failure. 

I remember writing a note to a former elementary teacher, updating her on my life after graduating college and moving up to Winchester, thanking her for her support and instruction during my formative years. She was retired and no longer able to live alone. I was very pleased with myself for being so thoughtful. 

She never responded. A few months later I saw her at a family event. I was tasked with driving her back to her assisted living facility. During the drive, I asked if she had received my note. 

“I did,” she said stiffly. “Thomas, if your mother was still alive and saw your handwriting, she would be absolutely ashamed of you.” 

Harsh but fair, I thought. After further consideration, though, I decided her words were harsh but harsh. I dropped the old battle-axe off at her nursing home and never contacted her again. 

That said, even in that brief encounter she was still teaching me life lessons (good educators never stop!!!!). The other day, when I sat down to write a note to a high school English teacher who meant a lot to me, I made the crucial decision to type it.