I retired from full-time teaching the minute I could. In fact, I kind of retired a couple months before I technically could by burning sick and personal days. But that had nothing to do with a lack of love for the job. Getting to know and love my students was a joy that never faded for me, even after more than a quarter of a century in the classroom. I would still be teaching full-time if it weren’t for a desire to spend more time and energy writing and working at my church. Well, that and the homework. I was never good at leaving the job at school. In fact, as a teacher of Advanced Placement classes, I really couldn’t do the job correctly and pack it all into the hours I was paid. It was either put in extra hours almost daily or short-change my students. That wore on me. So, now I’m a substitute teacher. I get to hang around with students with none of the homework. It’s the best of both worlds.

Back when I was younger, the hours didn’t bother me nearly as much as they did the last few years. That’s partly due to age, but also due to being in a functional, loving marriage in which I actually look forward to going home to my wife, something that just wasn’t true for a large part of my career. But it was that commitment to my students that made me pretty effective and, frankly, well liked by my students. They knew I was there for them and that they could get in touch with me even late into the evening and much of the weekend. It was that commitment, along with a joy for the job, that translated into a fun, creative atmosphere in my classroom that I believe led to my proudest moment as a teacher.

It’s hard to believe it was almost twenty years ago, but it was the fall of 2005, and a few colleagues and I were in Martinsburg doing teacher training. We were the tech gurus of the entire state back in the day. We were showing teachers the wonders of cutting edge technology, like Microsoft PowerPoint and scan converters and projectors as big as steamer trunks and digital cameras that had enough storage to hold up to twenty pictures! We had finished our latest presentation the evening before; it was a long drive, however, and there were just teacher meetings that day at school, so we spent the night, intending to take our time getting home, making a stop or two along the way. But my friend Dan, normally the slugabed of the group, was up at the crack of dawn, urging the rest of us to hurry up so we could hit the road. Once we’d left, Dan drove right past the big farmer’s market we’d all agreed we wanted to see, making some vague excuse about missing the exit.

To my disappointment, we got back to school in plenty of time for the meetings, but was puzzled to find our state superintendent of schools there, along with a woman I did not recognize a camera crew, and someone from the local TV station. Once everyone settled into their seats, Mr. Board, our principal, got up and said we had all been “bamboozled.” The stated reason we were given for the day’s meeting was a sham. It was then that he introduced Dr. Paine, our state’s superintendent of schools, who in turn introduced the woman I didn’t know, whose name was Jane Foley. She started speaking about the Milken National Educator Awards, which she said were unofficially known as the Academy Awards for teachers. I knew what the Milken Awards were because my friend Dan had won it several years back. He was at that time the only teacher in the history of PHS, and, I believe, all of Wood County Schools to ever receive the award. It’s an award that no one applies for, nor do they even know they’re up for it. How they choose recipients is a slight mystery to me even still, but it involves nominations by colleagues, especially previous Milken winners, after which they research the teacher’s work, surreptitiously interview their colleagues and administrators. I have no idea how many teachers are nominated every year, but only two were chosen from each state. The award came with a rather sizable check, tax-free and without stipulations, and some real prestige.

As Ms. Foley was discussing this, it became clear she was there to announce that one of us was the newest Milken National Educator Award recipient. I sat next to Dan chattering away about who he thought it was. I named several teachers who, in my estimation, were fine candidates. I thought it was likely Woody Wilson, or maybe Jim Dennis. Dan, however, was being uncharacteristically quiet, going so far as to try to shush me. Finally, the speaker announced that someone from PHS was indeed that year’s recipient, and the teacher’s name was…JOE STEPHENS!

I honestly don’t remember much after that for quite a while. I do remember that Dan had this huge grin on his face and hugged me until my back cracked. All I could manage to think to say in response to his congratulations was that I was glad I’d worn a tie. I shook more hands than a politician on the stump that day and was interviewed by WTAP, the Parkersburg News, and a person from the Department of Education. Couldn’t tell you what I said if you put a gun to my temple. It was nothing short of surreal. To be recognized as a teacher worthy of national recognition, as a teacher who combined a commitment to the welfare of his students and a creative, innovative approach to teaching, was an honor I will never get over. It was humbling and yet made me so proud I thought I might burst.

My only regret is that they scheduled the presentation on a day when the students weren’t there. I would have so loved getting to share that moment with them. Of course, I got to tell them all about it the next day, but it just wasn’t quite the same. I know, though, that it couldn’t be helped. The Milken folks set the schedule and it just happened to fall on a day without students. And it definitely didn’t dull the excitement I felt in that moment, or since. Even after all these years, it brings a smile to my face just thinking about it.