Perspective

 

Facebook reported that my World History teacher had died at age 91. He was only nine years older than I am, but when I was a senior in high school he was one of those adults whose ages seemed to be the same, or at least were until they got wrinkles and gray hair. Then they formed another group of old people.

I had only thought of Mr. Lahood since my 1960 graduation a few times over the decades or not at all.

I had wanted to take World History along with the required U.S. History, a course where each student was assigned a country or subject to follow and report on weekly.

World History had been a disappointment. I remember the teacher as a chubby red head who would fall victim to tears at the harassment of the class. Mr. Lahood replaced him after the first teacher broke down totally. He tried to show us slides of his trip to Greece. Although I loved the slides, the boys especially were so disparaging, that the teacher fled the class to never return.

Looking back, I have great sympathy for the man. He loved his subject, but lacked the ability to transmit it to unappreciative teenagers. He'd have been better off teaching at a university. I imagine his dread each day having to walk into that classroom. I wish I knew what happened to him, and I wish I could apologize.

Mr. Lahood took no prisoners. His classes were under control and interesting. He fulfilled my expectations and then some.

Life was very different then from today. The one semi-run-in I had with him was when he said single mothers turn out delinquent children. He didn't use those words, but that was the gist. My mother was a single mother, and I was anything but a delinquent. I had good grades and a job as a cub reporter for a daily newspaper. My biggest run in with the police was when I was caught parking with my future husband. We learned the best way to park was to go where there was some kind of event and park among the cars of the attendees.

In my class there were only two other single parents for three kids, including twins. My mother had developed her own business, selling women's fashion on a party plan. She also did fashion shows and managed to work just six months a year. She set it up to spend maximum time with my brother and me. 

I argued with him politely. I doubt if I convinced him, but I'll never know how he thought over the next several decades as society changed. 

In 1960 JFK became president despite the fears of my family's Republican friends that he would take orders from the Pope. Mack the Knife and Battle of New Orleans were on the top of the music charts and Castro was in control of Cuba, having replaced Batista. 

I wore lots of petticoats, white bucks and looked forward to going to Merrimack College in the fall. My mother swallowed her dislike for Catholics to make sure I didn't go to one of the Boston colleges and no way was I going to NOT live at home. 

The Facebook posting told of Mr. Lahood's career. He became a guidance counselor and a principal. He taught driver ed. Comments from many of his students showed he was loved and respected. 

Looking back on my high school education, I realize how good it was, how in-depth the subjects were. Now that I've lived a full life, I realize that my teachers, like Mr. Lahood, held full lives outside of school hours. They didn't just disappear when the three o'clock bell rang. I imagine most of them have died. I wish I could thank them for all that they gave me, for seeding the path I would take. 

R.I.P. Mr. Lahood. Your life had meaning.