Judy Haenn gave me permission to be the person that I wanted to be.
She was my ninth grade English teacher, and also my first period teacher–which meant that her kind face was the first one I encountered as a nervous, overwhelmed freshman. I knew at that point that I loved writing and reading more than anything else, and that I wanted to be a writer in some capacity after I finished school. But I had no idea how to do that, or whether it was possible.
The first non-relative to tell me that my dreams were achievable was Ms. Haenn (she always got a chuckle that I could never quite get comfortable calling my teachers by their first names in adulthood). She told me that I was a great writer and that she was 100% confident that I would be able to do it professionally. High school freshmen are not 100% confident of anything, so her faith in me meant the world.
As I progressed through high school I had two other great English teachers, Laura Leaney and Rob Pigott, who joined forces to build my confidence in myself. They helped me find essay contests to enter, and I won a lot of them. I had a single mom and we had no extra cash, so those prizes had a tangible benefit as well as an emotional one, and strengthened my belief that the world would allow me to do the thing I wanted to do.
Any time I talk about my career I always give them credit for giving me the most important thing any young person can have: belief. And that belief started with Ms. Haenn’s ninth grade English class.
Her impact in my household did not end with me. She was my wife’s mentor teacher when she did her student teaching, and did the same thing for Shar that she did for me: she told her she was allowed to do what she wanted to do. She made her believe in herself as a teacher, and then set her on her way.
My wife has now been a full-time teacher in the Long Beach Unified School District for 12 years, and in some very important ways she’s a similar teacher to Ms. Haenn. She’s been a safe space for a ton of nervous and overwhelmed freshmen–whenever I visit her for lunch her classroom is always full of kids happy to have found a calm harbor.
They are both reminders that teaching is a true calling, and a consuming one. After graduating college I had lunch with Ms. Haenn and told her that I had been writing professionally as a freelancer, and that I was thinking of becoming an English teacher like her while continuing to pursue it. I thought it would be a sweet emotional moment, like many we’d shared during my time as a student, when she’d gently pat me on the back and tell me she was proud of me.
Instead she furrowed her brow and told me that if I was going to be a teacher I shouldn’t think of it as a side hustle–and that I was good enough to be a professional writer, so I’d better just set off in that direction while I was young if that’s what I wanted to do. She said if I was doing my job right as a teacher, I wouldn’t have the energy needed to make a career as a writer.
It’s 28 years since I sat in her classroom on the first day of ninth grade, and it’s 20 years since that lunch. I’ve been a professional sportswriter (with some fiction and poetry on the side) my entire adult life, and have made a living off my name and my ability to string words together.
While I’m not teaching full-time, I’ve been proud to mentor hundreds of student writers over the last two decades, giving many of them their first check, their first publishing credit, or–just as importantly–their first affirmation that they’re talented enough to give it a try.
I can’t actually put into words the impact that Ms. Haenn made on me, or on my wife. Sadly, she passed away earlier this year–I am grateful that I was able to tell her many times over how much she meant to me.
My wife and I attended Ms. Haenn’s services at Christ Lutheran Church in East Long Beach earlier this month, part of an overflow crowd brimming with emotion and gratitude. Looking at all of the faces around me, I couldn’t help but think about what an impact she made through her decades as a teacher–the impact on my wife and I multiplied outwards hundreds and hundreds of times.
And I also thought about the work we’ve done to try and carry that impact forward as well–through the students and young people that we try to mentor, and to encourage. It struck me that while the funeral service for a true teacher has a fixed date, and a fixed time, a teacher’s impact is limitless–because it truly never ends.
