Everyone has a story. Because of an Educator
Think back to the teacher who saw your potential, encouraged you, and made a difference in your life.
What would you say to them now?
How did they bring out the best in you?
How did the educator make you feel, and how do you feel now reflecting on that person’s contribution to your life?
Share your story.
Written Stories
Last spring at the Jackson’s at 8th and Fort in Boise’s North End, I ran into Kali Kurdy, my 11th grade economics teacher at Borah High School. We said hello and small talked. It was about an hour after saying goodbye when I was struck with a sense of regret — I wish I had communicated that her hard work all those years ago was especially meaningful to me.
Mrs. Kurdy was a teacher who would go all in when a student showed interest and aptitude in her field and, even more importantly, she was liberal with encouragement and guidance and positive enthusiasm in the learning process. I wish I could remember more specifically about what made her so effective as a teacher, but when I think about it now I’ve determined it was simply her effort and time — she gave them generously.
As a high schooler I looked up to her hard work and considered her a mentor. Today I feel the same.
Keith Mitchell was my 4th grade teacher at Jackson Elementary School in Boise. He was the kind of teacher who didn’t just teach you the content of a subject, he taught in a way that made everything relevant to living a good life. He was the one who encouraged me to become an educator.
Mr. Moseley was a teacher at Vera C. O’Leary Junior High in Twin Falls, for what was then either called social studies or world geography. Not only was he a very captivating, honest storyteller, but he posed a lot of questions to us in that class that I still think about today, 30 years later. His section on the Vietnam War was both legendary among students and thought-provoking.
My sister and a few of my classmates who were a grade above me let me know how lucky I was to have him, and they were correct. He was one of the first teachers who talked to me like an adult and made me feel like the things I said mattered. At an age when it felt like I was always in trouble for the way I looked or the music I listened to, all Mr. Moseley seemed to care about was if I could think for myself — even if we didn’t agree — and that I not waste his time because he had a lot to go over. He was the best.
Jeannie Parsons was my 4th grade teacher at Progress Elementary in Spokane, Washington. Our classroom was divided by economics and abilities. Mrs. Parsons created a magical and inclusive environment that brought us all together and made us feel loved and supported.
My family moved to Twin Falls just a few days before I started eighth grade at O’Leary Junior High. I didn’t know a soul. A longtime private school student, I was mystified by what to wear because I had always worn a uniform. I discovered my new drama teacher, Mr. Miller, knew uniforms well. He wore all black, every day, like Johnny Cash. Sunglasses, too.
He might have been an imposing presence, but Mr. Miller warmly welcomed me when I desperately needed acceptance. At a time when I was struggling just to be seen, he saw me and doubled down — encouraging me to accept my quirks, to be creative without fear of judgement, and to be loud. He made me feel like he had my back. His class was a haven and I took every one he offered, even summer workshops.
I was overjoyed when I discovered he would be moving to Twin Falls High School and I could continue working with him. I eventually made the dreadful mistake of switching from drama to debate, but Mr. Miller always welcomed me back into his classroom as if I had never left.
I wish he were still here so I could tell him how often I think about him and thank him for being the person I needed him to be. Earlier this year, 33 years after I first stepped into Mr. Miller’s classroom, I met his daughters Tabitha and Jennifer — themselves talented educators who fight for their students and their profession. Now, that’s a legacy.
