I had a lot of fantastic teachers in high school. So many of them created passionate classroom discussions, challenged us to think more deeply, and sparked our curiosity about the world around us. I loved so many of my teachers and so many of my classes throughout high school (discounting a few math classes…) But those discussions and essays and projects truly pushed us, and pushed our stress levels as well. My teachers’ high expectations translated to harsh grading rubrics and a focus on grades that would often detract from the genuine joy of learning that they aimed to foster.
Every Thursday, my high school’s art and literary magazine, Window Seat, would meet. Many of my extra-curricular activities were a chance for me to pursue my passions without the same stress or pressure that was placed on my work in an academic classroom. It was always amazing to be a part of a community of writers and artists who were dedicated to supporting one another’s passions beyond the classroom. We would hold writing workshops, character brainstorms, or just talk about our recent favorite novels. Mrs. Anthony was the teacher adviser for Window Seat, and she was truly an integral part of the club.
Mrs. Anthony had a softened Southern accent worn down by years of living in the Boston area, small rectangle glasses, and a kind smile permanently on her face. While Window Seat’s student leaders ran every meeting, she always participated in our discussions and conversations, often cracking jokes and offering poignant advice from her desk.
I knew Mrs. Anthony first from her perch at her desk at every Window Seat meeting, but soon I began seeing her more. In addition to being a part of Window Seat as a freshman, in my sophomore year I also became a student member of the Robert Creeley Foundation, a local poetry and arts non-profit that strived to increase access to poetry in our area.
Attending the monthly board meetings was overwhelming. As one of eight students and one of two underclassmen, I was never more acutely aware of how young I still was. Adults decades older than me were talking about the annual budget, consulting lawyers about copyright, and even having petty arguments over the website’s wording across the conference table. As much as I was soaking up so much information, I was always afraid to speak, feeling as if my opinion meant so little to these adults who have been doing this work for decades. Sometimes it didn’t feel worth it for me to even be there. But this is where Mrs. Anthony’s role had the most power. Mrs. Anthony was the President of the Robert Creeley Foundation. And, as a teacher at the high school, she was the natural liaison between the foundation and its student members. While all of the other adults on the board were often, and understandably, wrapped up in their own work, Mrs. Anthony would pointedly look down to our end of the conference table and ask about our opinions. She invited us into the conversation, and placed genuine value on our perspectives. But even then, my voice would still shake every time I spoke.
Over the course of high school, I worked closely with Mrs. Anthony, first mostly as a student member of the Robert Creeley Foundation, and later as a student leader, and eventually Editor-in-Chief, of Window Seat. We hosted Robert Creeley Open Mic nights at a local ice cream shop; we heavily coordinated a school-wide poetry reading; she helped me apply for an arts grant when the school slashed Window Seat’s budget. I grew into my leadership roles and my confidence, continuously supported, pushed, and guided by Mrs. Anthony. She had high expectations, but she still struck an amazing balance between working with us and managing us as student leaders while consistently treating us as equals. And we knew how dedicated she was to us in return: when it was layout week for Window Seat, she would stay as late as we needed in order to get the magazine done, often being at the school until 6pm—almost four hours after the school day had ended.
The longer I knew Mrs. Anthony, the more I got to know her. Her sarcasm and cutting humor began coming out at Window Seat meetings, including her loud but joking advocacy for South Park, which she revealed to be her favorite show. All of us in Window Seat exchanged surprised looks, shocked that such a controversial show was the favorite of our older and beloved teacher. In discussions over darkly themed student narratives, she held thoughtful conversations with us over her strong anti-censorship feelings, ultimately allowing us to use our own discretion around the material we published, but making it clear that she would defend us against the administration should we receive any criticism.
At the end of my junior year, Mrs. Anthony was diagnosed with an auto-immune disorder. This steadfast, powerful, and thoughtful teacher I saw so much of the time was suddenly gone, and taking the rest of the year off. Many of the Robert Creeley Foundation members, including myself, made her dinner when she was initially diagnosed and recovering as she began treatment. My mom and I cooked a meal together and then brought it to her house, spending some time catching up with her in her living room. We had to walk carefully around the piles of books that had clearly formed after her shelves overflowed. Her smile was so wide, and she wanted to hear about how Window Seat was doing, how our recent open mic night went, and what books I’d read recently. It was hard to see her out of her element, not the usual strong and kind figure I had always known her to be. But it was also a small, concrete gesture I could make that gave back something to her after all that she had given me.
Mrs. Anthony returned to teach a reduced schedule in my senior year. She tried to find replacements for the Window Seat adviser, and to build new bridges between the Robert Creeley Foundation and other English teachers, but I knew that no one could truly fill her shoes in either role. She retired at the end of my senior year, hoping to finally write a novel she had been planning for years. The last time I saw Mrs. Anthony, we grabbed coffee over the summer before I came to Smith. We talked for hours about my summer job lifeguarding—and about the time she had to use CPR on a patron in her own lifeguarding days; about our recent summer reads—and debated whether or not authors could write about experiences beyond their own; and my own fear and excitement about starting a new chapter at Smith. I truly felt like a peer, like an adult, like my perspective was not only heard but valued.
As I am poised to graduate from Smith this May, and begin my own career as a secondary English teacher, I have thought a lot about my own English teachers over the years. When I think about Mrs. Anthony, an English teacher I never even had in an academic class, I see so many qualities I want to emulate. Her genuine love for literature and critical thinking; her witty and sarcastic sense of humor; her genuine belief in all of her students’ potential to do great things.
Over the course of my senior year at Smith, I wrote an Honors Thesis about the role of respect in student-teacher relationships. When I look back at Mrs. Anthony, I see so clearly that she embodied the form of respect that students talked about in my thesis: she respected each of us as an individual and as an equal. Funny how everything comes back around.
I will begin my first year teaching this fall as a middle school Arts and Humanities teacher. While the question of how the year will go is a constant worry in my mind, I know that with memories of mentors like Mrs. Anthony, I am feeling well-equipped to provide that same support, assurance, and respect to my students in and out of the classroom.