Thread by @Aisling_

Only a few days ago, I was telling two of my students about my favorite teacher. Not a big deal, actually. Just about the way he used to seize any going-astray class situation and turn it into a learning experience.

Yes, our own class was going astray then. ^^'

I used to see him walking down the school halls, as if he was in a big hurry. He wouldn’t look around.

The first time I spoke to him was in a speaking exam. Wouldn’t utter a word, little me. He said, "What’s wrong?," and I told him I was ashamed of my accent and grammar.

"I wish...", I stuttered, "...I wish... I could speak English as well as Luis... and Silvia."

He said time and practice would do the trick. Not entirely the truth to be honest, but there was a reason why us Linguistic students would work on second and even third languages...

...twice or even thrice as hard as the rest of college.

There, I've just gone and used "thrice". ^^'

We were terrified the first day of his class of course. What if we didn’t get it? What if things went awfully hard?
"Don’t worry", the upperclassmates told us. "When he sees you’re not getting it, he’ll sign-language it for you."

😳

Finally things were not as terrifying. Whether my overly brilliant class was actually brilliant or he was making it nice for us, the first period of our Literature class was pure bliss.

Ok, a bliss for me that I liked reading. Though the first book we read was not easy at all.

It was Stephen Crane's The Red Badge of Courage, a well-known nightmare at school, or so it was described by our old upperclassmates that seemed to find delight in scaring us out of our wits.

Well, I liked it. Because there was this scene that reminded me of Chrono Trigger.

I was into cats and videogames and Tolkien and I think my professor only approved of cats. ^^'

There was this time we produced a short as a part of a school project; script by yours truly. It was also bound for a school contest. We won! He handwrote our first place diplomas...

...and I realized that he had made one for my cat Solaris, that had appeared about 7 seconds in the whole half-hour short! 🐱

We didn’t attend classes with Professor F because we needed to pass his subjects. We didn’t do homework or study or pay attention in class because we wanted good grades.

The truth is, we were just afraid of letting him down. That was his charm.

I've never known or had a kinder teacher.

Here in Mexico, being a teacher AND kind is regarded as dangerous.

It is generally believed that students will take advantage of a teacher' kindness. Well, it does happen, to be honest.

Many people think that kind = stupid.

The thing is, Professor F was never afraid to be TOO kind. Sometimes people would just take advantage of that. Not in my group. We would have ripped the guts out of anyone that would even DARE to hurt our favorite teacher's feelings.

He taught us Literature, Grammar, Phonology. About eight classes in the major.
He taught us to write Japanese syllabic poetry. Haiku and tanka, stuff like that. I still like doing those. He would also get us into projects, like the short, that were both engaging and fun.

When I started getting good at his subjects, I moved from not wanting to disappoint him to trying to impress him. He did seem impressed by my stuff, but I think it was the same with everyone's because he was so kind.

The only time I think I genuinely impressed him was when we did a project about writing the biography of a writer in the same style as that of the writer. I picked Edith Sitwell. His smile as he was giving feedback was one I'd never witnessed before, and it made me so happy.

There was this time we were in Grammar class, and we talked about Koko the gorilla. The next day, one of my classmates brought a stuffed gorilla and put it on one of the chairs. The professor saw it and said, "Oh, it seems we have a famous visitor." He just played along. ^^

He would rather cancel any homework or project if he saw we were too stressed or overwhelmed. He would call us to his office whenever we needed to have a good cry and talk to us. He would advise us. When we didn't have books or studying material, he would lend us his own.

Of course we elected him our Padrino de Generación. One of out class members objected that he had not been the BEST teacher we'd had in the major. But the rest of us said he had been the one who had always supported us and that counted as "best" enough.

He gave his speech in Spanish. Beautiful. It must not have been easy. His writing skills were those of a native speaker, if not better.
He mentioned an annotation in an Irish illuminated manuscript. The scribe had written "It's late. Pray to God my handwriting comes out pretty."

When I started looking for a first "serious" job, I asked him for a recommendation letter. He wrote a complete page! No one would have read it, now that I think of it. ^^'

But he had registered every single stupid little thing I had done, Tolkien and videogames and my little fanzine included. He wrote, "...an asset to any company lucky enough to hire her." No one has ever said anything of that sort about me. 😭💕

Then he moved on to become the head of the Master's Translation and Interpretation Program. After a couple of people, I was appointed to his former position. His recommendation was shorter but sweeter: "Get her if you can! Get her if you can!"

He wanted to be a writer, or, let's say, a published author. Because that was not possible for him here in Mexico, he occupied himself with projects. Some of them were just great. He gathered some of his best students to put together the best English grammar book...

...for Spanish speakers I've ever seen. English for Us it was called, and how it saved our skins, those of us who came across that beautiful two-volume work. He designed the cover all by himself, with those filigree-like ink borders he liked to draw.

The School of Linguistics was closed and he had my back. I started publishing stuff, and he had my back. I started translating, and he had my back. I worked here and there and I was sure he had my back.

I was kicked out of Linguistics after eleven years, and then I was kicked out of my other job after fifteen years, and last year I was kicked out of the job I thought would be my last one after ten years, and in that period I only saw him at the Book Fair that we both loved.

And last year the Book Fair was canceled because of COVID and I didn't want to contact him because I didn't want to tell him what had happened; and oh how he loved the Book Fair, as I do, and I wanted to meet him this year and perhaps talk about it, but I still was too ashamed.

Earlier this year I received a mail from someone at the Master's program asking for a lecture and I wanted to say yes, but I misplaced the message and even though I marked it I couldn't find it. I didn't even remember the name of the sender.

Tried every search I could and I didn't find it and perhaps he wanted to see me.

Yesterday I found out my teacher passed away last Thursday and I didn't know because I fucking hate Facebook and everyone believes you´ll get notified of everything via Facebook. 😭

And I feel like total shit because perhaps he did want to see me and I misplaced the message and maybe he thought I was not interested or something or that I didn't care.

I did care! But I was so ashamed. That I lost my job, that my mother died thinking I was unhappy...

...which I was but she was not supposed to know, that she died thinking I never achieved anything, that my friends just walked away and I didn't get to do those remarkable things he was certain I would.
So at the end I DID let him down. 😭

And I'm fucking angry because I was expecting him to retire at old age, and I should have known better than he would never, and I had no idea he was struggling with a heart condition and he didn't want to go to the public hospital because he was afraid of COVID...

...and public hospital is the only choice for teachers and he was not taking care of himself and I was not there for him like he had been there for me before.

And the Egyptian cat papyrus he gave me, I still have it on the wall, but he is no more and I want to talk to him...

...and tell him overall that I love him and I am so, so sorry about everything.
My former classmate who is now working at the Master's program told me yesterday, "this is like the end of an age".
But he was no age for me. Not like that.

Sorry about all that and see you later.