Lessons (not) Planned: Mr. Micenheimer, Mr. Chase, and a Little Extra Effort

My dad loves to tell stories about when he was the principal at Stonington High School. For those of you who don’t know about the magical land called Stonington, it is a small town now of about 1000 people in central Illinois. Really small. It was Mayberry. Everyone knew everybody and looked out for everybody and cared about everybody. Those places do exist.

It was a grand building.

But then the state started pressuring small schools to consolidate or annex with larger schools, so we did. And then everyone started moving away and that sense of community was lost.

So anyway, during dinner whenever my dad starts a story with, “When we were at Stonington…” my sister and I roll our eyes and one of us usually gets up for something else to drink. It’s not that we don’t love Dad or Stonington or the years we spent there; it’s just that sometimes we get tired of it that way all kids get tired of their parents reminiscing.

That's a groovy dude.

But occasionally Dad tells a new story, or one that is just pure gold. And recently he told me one that left me amazed. With the recent passing of Merle Micenheimer, I thought it should be told.

Mike* was a student at Stonington his junior year. He enrolled in the Army and went to basic training the following summer. So he had goals and a plan, but school just wasn’t his thing. His senior year the relatives he was staying with moved to Taylorville, which is a much larger town nearby. The staff knew that he was going to fall through the cracks at a larger school. He was the kind of kid that needed more personal attention. More encouragement. More connection.

Love the plaid pants.

The rules were that if you started school in one district, you could finish out your senior year in that district. So Mike lived with different relatives in Stonington for the first few days of school so he could finish in Stonington while he lived in Taylorville. According to Dad, “I followed the letter of the law, but really did what was best for Mike.” They really were a rogue group in corduroy and polyester.

Then the question became, “How will he get to school?” Merle Micenheimer picked him up EVERY. DAY. Then he took him to Casey’s, bought him a cup of hot chocolate, and brought him to school. And Mr. Micenheimer took him home every night. Mike couldn’t have made it without Mr. Micenheimer. Mr. Micenheimer didn’t make him feel like he was being put out. He just put forth the extra effort to see a kid graduate and succeed. It wouldn’t have worked without Mr. Micenheimer.

I'm disappointed he's not in a sweatsuit.

Mike did graduate. He went on to the Army and then became a police officer. He saw my dad at a restaurant in Taylorville recently. They stopped and caught up and Mike told him how much he appreciated and recognized what Mr. Micenheimer and Dad did for him.  

Please don’t say that this is how the “good ole days” were, when teachers “used to care.” My dad still teaches, tutors kids, and works with The Matthew Project (an amazing organization, btw). My mom’s room after school has always resembled the Island of Misfit Toys: kids with absent parents who grew up too quickly, looking for a mother figure. And I have lots of teacher friends who buy their students socks, mittens, gloves, and other things that they notice their kids are lacking. I don’t know a teacher who doesn’t spend a good portion of her own money on her classroom and students.

Who wouldn't want to spend their extra cash on precious teenagers?

I think the way you view teachers reflects the way you view the world. If you just see all the “problems”: Common Core, politics, lazy teachers, summers off, etc., then you probably only see the negatives in the world. Look around. There are thousands of amazing teachers not complaining, not winning awards, but putting in hours and hours day (AND NIGHT), year-round, to make sure kids don’t fall through the cracks. Find them. Help them. Praise them. And be grateful your child’s life is touched by someone, like Mr. Micenheimer, who CHOSE to pour into him every day.  

*A real guy, but not his real name, of course.