Fatherly Figure by Rebekah Adams
I’ve never had a father. My
parents had a nasty divorce when I was on the brink of two
years old and ever since it’s just been my mom and us
three kids. I’ve seen my father enough times to count on
my fingers; each time being extremely awkward. I’ve never
experienced the caring discipline of a fatherly figure,
one that cares and believes in my abilities and my worth.
Growing up with a soft-spoken, gracious mother, it’s been
easy to get away with things and let things slide. Never
having a bedtime, chores, punishment, or a time schedule
in which to do things, I’ve pretty much had total
freedom. I’ve always been naturally bright too, so I’ve
always been able to get away with giving half of my effort
in school, not studying for tests, and still passing with
flying colors.
The first
couple months of my sophomore year of high school were
extremely difficult, for I had a certain teacher for the
first time. This teacher was hard on me and didn’t
tolerate my half-effort attitude. The amount of work he
assigned was impossible; there was no way I could do it. I
broke down and wept uncountable times in his classroom.
This teacher expected too much from me. It was too hard.
I couldn’t do it. However, he saw potential in me that
even I didn’t know I had, and he wouldn’t allow me to give
up with difficult things. He also had boundary lines of
which I wasn’t supposed to cross. He had rules of which I
wasn’t supposed to brake. I tested him and he did the
unfathomable and disciplined me. I couldn’t believe it.
I hated him. How dare he do such a thing! Secretly
though, deep down inside, I found myself forming a love
that I had never experienced for this teacher, and for the
first time in my life I genuinely respected and feared
someone.
My behavior
and school routine started to change. For the first time,
I had to actually study for tests. For the first time
ever in my whole entire school career I would spend four
or more hours on homework assignments. Also, if I didn’t
understand a problem or a concept, rather than skipping
over it, or writing down answers pretending to know it, I
actually would go into his classroom on my own time,
whether that be the morning, during lunch, or after school
to get help. For the first time ever in school, I
actually cared.
We started to get to know
each other, and I hated the way he could see right through
me and I couldn’t hide anything from him. But I also got
to know him too. I noticed he raises his eyebrows
whenever he is serious about making a point. I loved how
he related every action we as kids do now to the real
world after high school. He also always joked about
having a cold heart, but deep down I can clearly see he
has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen.
I began to love his
discipline, for I knew I was in much need of it. I began
to look up to this teacher who was almost like the role of
my absent father. My real father gave up on me and didn’t
see my worth enough to stick around, but this teacher upon
first meeting me saw what no one else had, and pushed me
beyond what I believed my limits to be. I believe this
teacher senses the fatherly-role he plays for me, and has
even told me that he feels I could be his daughter. My
spirit soared and I dwelled on those words for days. To
be called someone’s daughter, is something I’ve
always secretly longed for. As you can imagine, I’m
extremely jealous of the two daughters that he has of his
own and I have full confidence that his girls will be
successful when they grow up, for they have the best dad
in the world. I can recall one day after school, his wife
dropped off one of his daughters, and my teacher had to
watch his little girl. He was helping to support her
standing up on the desk and said soothingly, “Don’t worry,
I got you.” For some reason, those words struck me like a
boulder and kept echoing in my ears. “I got you.” I
realized the sense of security and trust this little girl
was getting from her father just “being there” for her.
I doubt his daughters will ever understand to the degree
of just how good of a father they have.
This
teacher has made more of an impact on me the past year
and a half, than my real father has in the past
seventeen years. I long to tell this teacher how much I
appreciate the role he has played, but realize I can’t
for there are certain professional boundaries. Tears
constantly fill my eyes for the appreciation I have for
this one man. I can promise you that I will always
remember the impact this teacher had on me and will
continue to carry on the life lessons that he teaches me
every day. To every other student, he is just a
teacher. But for me, I look up to him more than anyone
in the world.
Copyright 2009 Rebekah
Adams
Reviews and comments
requested
Posted 5/12/2009