Class Act

Sometime during the winter of my junior year Ed said to me something to the effect of, "We don't get to choose who we love, Breeda, we can only hold on for the ride and hope for the best." I couldn't think of a better way to describe my relationship with Ed F. Ed was a humanities teacher, the Academic Dean, and the Chaplain at my very small boarding school in the mountains of northern New Hampshire. I had transferred to The White Mountain School at the beginning of my sophomore year. I had made the choice to go away to school; I wanted to be more independent and meet new people, but I also wanted to escape a lot of painful memories from my childhood that still held a lot of power over my family and my home.

In 10th grade I didn't have any contact with Ed in the classroom, but his office door was always open. I would find myself in there on a daily basis talking to him about my classes, or debating a school issue with him, or crying to him about my latest personal strife. And Ed would listen, or he would advise, or he would argue, or he would simply point out that which I already knew but did not want to face. Whatever it was, he saw what I needed and he would give it to me. And there were times that I hated him for that. I hated that he wouldn't just let me be, let me carry on with business as usual and ignore the issues I needed to confront. But I also loved him for that. After all, I was the one that kept coming back to him for advice.

My junior year I chose Ed as my academic advisor, which officially put him in charge of monitoring my academic, social, and emotional health and progress. In addition, I enrolled in a two credit American Studies class that he was teaching, which meant that I would be with Ed for at least an hour and a half for every day of my junior year. It was intense. Ed never let me hide behind my old defenses. He wouldn't accept my excuses for why my work was not done or why I had done poorly on an exam. He wouldn't let me avoid the unhealthy or painful thoughts and views I had of others and myself. He helped me to see the merits of introspection, and the necessity of supportive friendships. He was always there when I needed him, he gave me his home number and did not mind when I would use it; he and his family even opened up their home to me and other students when we just needed to escape campus for a night, or even a weekend. He helped me to come through one of the most painful, difficult, beautiful, blissful and obviously confusing points in my life, High School.

Not only was Ed a wonderful human being, he was an amazing teacher too. One of the most awe-inspiring aspects of his teaching style was his ability to relate the material to his students and their experiences. He always made us ask, "What does this poem say about me?" "What does this historical event say about us and our society?" He made us bring it all together saying of every historical event, or every piece of literature, "It's a story about us." He asked us to work with him to evaluate our society in light of our experiences. We all learned together.

Senior year Ed was once again my teacher and advisor. I took a one-semester course with him entitled Faith, Myth and Religion. Despite the fact that he had now taken on the role of Academic Dean and did not have as much free time, Ed still found time for me when I needed it. I was in his office at least three to four times a week, simply to talk. When there was time Ed would often take me and his other advisees to lunch or ice cream or simply to the grocery store. He was always there as an outlet for stress relief.

Graduation came on June 5, 1999. It was one of the most exciting and frightening moments in my life. I was on my way to my first choice school in the fall. It was everything that White Mountain wasn't, large, in the city, in the south, and much less liberal. At least that's what it seemed to me at the time. But it wasn't the community that I had come to love, the place where I had finally begun to realize who I am, and there was no Ed there. Ed had become the father figure I had always craved. He managed to both nurture and scold, to encourage me to explore and to divert me from damaging behavior, to love me unconditionally and to encourage me to change. At graduation Ed was the one that awarded me the Courage Prize, an award for having overcome great personal and academic adversity. I went up to get the award and Ed enveloped me in one of his scarecrow hugs, the man was all limbs and no weight. It was one of the most fulfilling moments in my life.

I've been out of high school for two and a half years now and a lot in my life has changed. One thing that has remained constant, however, is my friendship with Ed. Even now, in my junior year of college, I call Ed when I need someone to talk to, or simply when I feel like we need an update on each other's lives.

I entered college thinking that I wanted to go into politics. Throughout my time at WMS Ed would joke with me saying in his booming voice, "Breeda girl, just accept it, you're going to be a teacher! I won't even have to say good-bye to you at graduation because I know you'll be back." I would yell back, stamping my foot, "No Ed. I will not be like my mother, I refuse. I'm going to be president! I don't want to be a teacher!" And we'd both just laugh. Well, by the end of my freshman year in college I had decided that I wanted to teach high school. And even worse, just a few weeks ago I decided to change my major from Interdisciplinary Studies to American Studies. So it's all come full circle, and Ed was right as usual.

It was my time at White Mountain, and Ed's influence especially, that has inspired me to become a teacher. I want to be able to have as much of a positive academic and personal effect on my students as Ed had on me. At some point during my teaching career I do plan on working at WMS. I think it will be the most challenging and helpful time in my life as a teacher. So to Ed, thank you. You forced me to turn around and face it, and then you helped me to move forward once I had. You opened up a lifetime of personal growth and exploration as well as a thirst to understand our culture. You showed me who a teacher truly is, and who I can truly be.

-Breeda Edwards, American University