I got a call from a friend today, letting me know that my high school English teacher had passed a month or so ago. I was startled, moved, and deeply saddened. Upon further investigation, I read that he had driven to a park very near to where I live and shot himself. I was destroyed. This man was not only a teacher to me, but a mentor and a role model.
It was he who that taught me that there was no shame in being a man who writes poetry. It was he who taught me not how to read a book, but how to fall in love with it, how to absorb it. Thanks to him, stories which I had read before became new experiences for me to delve into with a more appreciative eye for style, technique, and theme. Thanks to him, I've never received less than a B on any paper I've turned in during college.
When looking at the date of his passing, I discovered something heart wrenching. I'm the sentimental type that likes to go back to his high school and talk to whichever of his teachers are still around. I had visited my school a month or so back and actually passed by his room. Looking into his window, I saw that the room was full of students still (even after the bells) and decided not to disturb him. That was mere days before he shot himself. When I'm honest with myself, I wonder if maybe the simple act of going in and talking to him would have somehow changed what was to come.
I can't begin to imagine how someone I thought so strong and looked up to so much could have arrived at the decision he made. What's worse, all I can really do in his memory is put these words here so that some people will know what an amazing human being Eric Meyer was.
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When it feels like the entire weight of the world is on your shoulders, brace your feet.
I'm not much for words, but when one of my beloved high school football coaches died he always told us not to remember him as the man in the hospital bed, but as the man who caught me eating a half-melted snickers at practice and chasing me down while I tried to finish it because I bought it for a dollar.
Sometimes the best thing you can do when you lose a teacher is to pass on what they taught you. Through that he is immortal.
I'm not much for words, but when one of my beloved high school football coaches died he always told us not to remember him as the man in the hospital bed, but as the man who caught me eating a half-melted snickers at practice and chasing me down while I tried to finish it because I bought it for a dollar.
Sometimes the best thing you can do when you lose a teacher is to pass on what they taught you. Through that he is immortal.