Requiem for Lynda Thornbery

From http://gretawendelin.blogspot.com/2008/05/requiem-for-dead-teacher.html

I found out recently that my jr. high English teacher, Ms. Lynda Thornberry, died last November. She was 47, had been teaching up in Cheyenne, WY, as she had been when she left Oberlin nine years ago. I don't know how she died.

I found out only because I wanted to thank her. As I was writing to a friend, also a jr. high English teacher, I realized what an impact Ms. Thornberry had on my life. Ms. Thornberry was a stand-out in Oberlin. An unmarried, chain smoking, Star Trek lovin', hard core debater--tall and big boned, dark red hair, and a cackle which echoed out of her classroom that reeked of jr. high kids--the stink of pimples and candy. So, hey, I thought it'd be cool to contact her and let her know that I thought she was a pretty rockin' teacher and I hope all was going swell for her. Unfortunately, all my search turned up was an obituary.

There's lots of stories to recount about Ms. Thornberry, but that would be boring, and since most are mere fragments of memory, it'd be rather pointless as well. The reason I wanted to thank her is because I think she played a critical role in who I am today (which I'm fairly happy about). She was the debate coach and encouraged me to try out for it. She also was the flag team coach, which I also tried out for. Even though both flag team and debate team floundered and/or died when Ms. Thornberry left after my eighth grade year, I kept up with both debate and flags, with many happy memories/mad pole-twirrlin' skills in return.

If anything, I had wanted to thank Ms. Thornberry for showing me, and many others, that it's OK to be different. In my school, where jock-for-brains goons were getting head from the principal and other notable instructors, it was hard to be someone who liked reading more than wrestling, or was actually kind of interested in getting an A on a research paper. We had learned to defer to the beautiful and strong and stupid, but Ms. Thornberry taught us that we didn't have to take shit from the little shits. She had no qualms about slicing the wrestling king down to size, tossing the football beast out in the hall, or matching the jock squad (and always besting them) in their belligerence. On the other hand, she was never unduly cruel. If someone made an effort or did well, she recognized it. She would joke around, schooling us on obscure pop culture references, and talking to us like adults when we acted like adults.

So, Ms. Lynda Thornberry, thank you. Thank you for showing me that it's OK to read, and that being a nerd is actually quite cool, and debaters win. I still hope things are well for you. Live long and prosper.