My Song of Myself

I was in 11th grade English at Orem High. My teacher, Phyllis Bestor, was on her stool reading aloud the climactic scene from Chaim Potok’s The Chosen. (the following contains spoilers) The story follows the story of Danny Saunders, a Hasidic Jew, who is in line to take the place of his father, Reb Isaac Saunders who is the tzadik, a prophetlike figure for his congregation in Brooklyn. His father, concerned that his son’s brilliant mind lacked the necessary compassion to minister to his people, made the drastic decision, when Danny was 10 years old, to raise his son in silence in order for him to learn about suffering and compassion. So Mrs. Bestor got to the scene where Danny’s father finally explained why he raised him in silence and Mrs. Bestor couldn’t continue reading, Soon she began weeping. After what seemed like a long silence amongst my 16-17 year old classmates, she regained her composure, and we continued with the book.

Literature was never the same for me after that moment. Up until that moment, it never completely dawned on me that fiction, although made up, explored the truths of the human condition, sometimes more deeply than nonfiction. Never had fiction felt so real to me. So what does this moment have to do with a conversation about me becoming a teacher? Let me explain.

Like many children, my career dreams hinged on the latest book of interest in the library or the latest dynamic speaker at school assemblies or the latest success found out on the playground. At various times I wanted to be a geologist, paleontologist, fireman, police detective, forest ranger, trapeze artist, actor, professional singer, and professional athlete.

As the son of a collegiate golfer, I was pushed to be the next sensation on PGA golf tour. My father was certain I had what it took to make a successful living on the golf links. I did enjoy playing junior golf and I garnered a few trophies at local tournament as evidence that I had some talent. To further support my dad’s argument, my high school team won the state golf tournament my sophomore year. When school counselors would speak with me about a future career, they scoffed at the idea of me becoming a professional athlete. Deep inside, I knew this wasn’t a reality for me, but their quick dismissal of my dream (or my dad’s dream) felt inconsiderat. The reality for me was because that’s all my dad had spoken of for so long, by the time I entered secondary schools, I couldn’t see myself as anything else but a golf professional.

However, by the time I was a junior, the junior golf competition became stiffer and stiffer, and if the the truth be told, I became less and less enamored of the golf scene. Many of the kids I interacted with belonged to country clubs, had private golf instructors, and behaved liked spoiled brats. Competing and practicing started to lose some of their fun and felt like more of a chore. Enter Mrs. Bestor. Little did I know that when I signed up for English my junior year with Phyllis Bestor, that my career dreams would change forever.

I had always liked my English classes, mainly because I was a reader and enjoyed discussing books. Mrs. Bestor was a beloved teacher at Orem High because she treated every kid with dignity and respect. I had never had a teacher treat me like I was an adult or a near adult. She was very well-spoken, good-humored, and seemed to love her job. Of all my high school classes, I felt at home in her classroom.

It was at that moment, while listening to The Chosen, when fiction became oh so real to me, that I started to dream of being an English teacher. I thought, “books can really change peoples lives. Mrs. Bestor changed mine. I love books. Why couldn’t I do the same thing?” I remember sitting in the back of her classroom at that moment, gazing out the window at the courtyard adjacent to the classroom, and daydreaming about being Mr. Fillmore, English teacher. 31 years later, here I am reading books aloud to my students, trying to teach my kids about the human condition.

Thank you, Mrs. Bestor.

P.S. In that class I was introduced to what would later become one of my all-time favorite novels, Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury. On the first date with my future wife, Melanie, we talked about books and discovered that we had the same favorite book, Dandelion Wine. I think we both took it as a sign and six months later we were married.