I spent the evening at my old stomping grounds of Wilfrid Laurier University, haunted by old ghosts.
So much of the campus is new and different, yet so much of it is the same. For every moment that caused me pangs of ancient decrepitness (getting lost in a library no longer familiar to me, stunned as I took in the massive shape of a Hub that was once a homely Concourse), I also delighted in waves of nostalgia. I could see blurry after-images of a younger, carefree me riding the escalators of the Alvin Woods building…running down the stairs of the Student Union, sitting with my feet up in the polisci lounge…
Spectres of my past — without form, but with ample amounts of substance.
But that was overture to the main act of the night: having a beer with a former student, now 21 years old, and finishing his third year of political science. He asked me out for advice on course selections for next year…which evolved into two of the most pleasant, wistful hours in recent memory.
I looked at him — all deep voiced and filled out — and thought back to the inquisitive, forceful, laid back boy I once taught politics and history. Now, right in front of me, was the confident, intelligent young man he had become.
Good lord…I’ve never felt older — or prouder — in my life.
Here was the reason I became a teacher. Here was an example of the fruits of my labours. I had some influence on this young man, and he’s more than lived up to his potential. It was positively breathtaking.
This young man is one of the reasons I love — in a way love can’t adequately describe — doing what I do…what makes the passing years less worrisome for me. In the last few months, I’ve been doubting my passion and my ability to do what I’ve never doubted I could do before…
…but THIS young man — as well as a number of other young men and women I have seen off to university and college — reawakened a feeling of accomplishment I haven’t experienced in a long, long time. I’m so proud of everything they’ve managed to accomplish…sometimes with great personal sacrifice. Each one of them has a little bit of me inside their heads, ranting and raving…and I think it may actually be a GOOD thing. I might actually have contributed (even inspired?) something positive to their education…to their outlook on life. What more could an educator — even a mentor — want from his or her proteges?
It was an evening of long, tall shadows, dug up from the depths of my past…but they were also pointing to the future. I saw my legacy first hand tonight…and it made my heart sing for the first time in ages. I need to feel this way more often.
