All because of a teacher . . .

As I worked my may through my formal schooling, from grade school to doctoral studies, at every level, one teacher seemed to stand out and have earned a revered place in memory and deep gratitude for the impact they made on my life.

These wonderful human beings did what great teachers almost always do--they recognized and appreciated me as a unique human being, and they always seemed to help me see something in myself or in the world that I didn't--or couldn't have sees without their help. They guided, goaded, cajoled, questioned, and coached. They were at times disappointed in me when they knew I had given less than my best. They went out of their way to stay in touch later in my life. I felt they loved me as a person. And I love and loved them.

Paul Miller was my fifth-grade teacher. He was fresh from college and at six-foot-five he had not only been a basketball player but, to me he was larger than life for other reasons. Paul was smart. I though he was a great teacher and hung on his words. He helped instill in me my love of books. But more than that, Paul Miller was a a good, kind, compassionate man with a huge heart. I didn't doubt that he believed in me and never wanted him to be disappoint in me. I worked hard for him. Not surprisingly, Paul later served for years as a beloved elementary school principal. I can only imagine how many lives he touched.

In me, Paul saw a skinny, small, shy, and overly sensitive kid from a dysfunctional home--an easy target for bullies. I knew I was his favorite student (every other kid in class knew they were too!) He was that kind of teacher. On the playground during recess or after lunch Paul would often single me out to throw a football or shoot baskets--and then invite other boys to join in. One of my fondest childhood memories, sixty years later, was being invited to go with Paul and one of the “cool kids” in class to the Utah State Aggie Booster Club. That might seem a small thing, but to my ten-year-old self it was magical. After he took us on a field trip to the state legislature, I set my sights on becoming a US Senator. A visit to a large dailnewspaper left me determined to become a foreign correspondent.

Recently, after many years of good intentions, I located Paul’s phone number. I called his home on the chance that he might still be alive. Happily, he was. His wife told me that he wasn’t well but that she was sure he would love to talk. His voice transported me back. Characteristically, Paul wanted to know all about where I’d been, what I’d done, what I was doing now. I knew, as I did as a child, that he was proud of me. I told him of the influence he had been in my life. I said I was sure that were it not for Paul Miller, I would never have accomplished what little I have. I thanked him. I wept. He wept. We said goodbye.

It was one brief moment in time that I will always hold in memory.

Thank you, Paul Miller! The seed of self-confidence and thirst for knowledge you planted in me grew. Other caring teachers saw and nurtured the desire to learn as I grew from child to man. To Lynda Puzey, Kim Burningham, Parry Sorensen, Brent Peterson, and Mark Rossman, I express my deepest gratitude.

Thank you, my teachers, for the role you played in my life. You made a difference in who I was and in who I have become. My warts are my own, but I’m grateful that some of your good rubbed off on me. My life is richer and fuller thanks to you.

I became a teacher because of you.