Maybe part of my fascination with all things academic stems from the amazing mentors and teachers I’ve had over the years. From my English teachers in high school to faculty members at TWU with whom I have a strictly collegial/professional relationship, I’ve been incredibly blessed in my life to know many gifted and passionate instructors.
I bring this up now because, in the last week, I’ve had the uncommon opportunity to reconnect with some of them. While up in Fayetteville last Friday morning, I stopped by the U of Arkansas and visited two professors for whom I worked as a grad assistant in the journalism department, Patsy Watkins (chair) and Hoyt Purvis (graduate committee chair). Both of them were incredible mentors for me during my time at UA and both were thrilled to see me when I stopped by. Hoyt even made passing (and, I’m sure, joking) reference to me coming back to Arkansas to teach for them. (Aside: Hoyt should *not* be joking about such things!)
I’m always amazed at how, as my life changes, the way I relate to former mentors and instructors also changes. Seeing Dr. Watkins again, for example, now that I’m what you might call a university administrator — it allowed us to talk about administrative issues (budgeting, class sizes, etc.), where previously we tended only to chat about curriculum sorts of issues. That was really cool. With Hoyt, as has often been the case, our conversation was more geared towards the “what’s going on?” questions and his next planned trip to fish the White River near my hometown.
Today, I had another one of these reconnecting moments — albeit with someone who I’ve actually seen in the last year. 🙂 While I was over in her building, I stopped in to see one of the professors I have tremendous affection for today. I’ve never taken one of her classes, don’t work directly with her, and yet have managed from almost the beginning of my time at TWU to forge a good working relationship with her. She’s one of those people gifted with an undeniably strong intuition; she seems to sense when things are awry around her — and also when things are good, and she has an uncanny knack for saying just the right thing, whatever that may be. I hadn’t seen her since probably April, though, and so I was well overdue for an impromptu visit.
I had a great day today, and would have even if I’d not seen this person … but clearly, she brightened it tremendously. She took one look at me and exclaimed, “Liz Norell! You look so wonderful!” We chatted only for a few minutes — about my upcoming trip to Hawaii, various things that happened over the summer at TWU, nothing serious. I mentioned nothing of changes in my life over the last few months, but I didn’t have to because she just *knew*. Isn’t that amazing? I left her office — as I always do — feeling light as air and oh-so-happy with life in general. It was awesome.
I’ve always had a pretty strong sense of self, but the external feedback and validation from those I consider mentors has meant a great deal to me over the years. Their words have always stayed with me. There was Mrs. Brantly’s assessment of my “serenity” in high school (I’d never before been called serene, and I had to look up the word to understand fully what she meant). One of my honors law professors at GW to this day will tell you that someday I’ll make “a fabulous lawyer,” words that I can’t quite get out of my head. Another mentor at UA journalism told me when I graduated never to give up on my dream of teaching — she advised me to do whatever it took and not to squander my clear love for (and talent at) teaching. I’ve been fortunate to have these people — and frankly, most of them have been women — who have been able, over the years, to see things within me that I’ve needed longer to unearth for myself.
Perhaps it’s that very gratitude that drives me to do my very best whenever I have an opportunity to teach anyone anything?