I’ve been writing this one in my head for a long time. Instead of overthinking it, I’d rather just get it down. Put it out there.
When you are in your twenties and you’re figuring out what job you’re supposed to embrace for the rest of your working life, there is no way to predict the waves coming from future tides. We cannot see the storms, but we plan the journey anyway. To be fair, we cannot predict the island paradises, yet we still chart the waters. So it goes with most professions.
I began teaching high school English twenty years ago this month. I had a bit of a false start in a small Virginia classroom pretty far off the beaten path, but when an opening appeared to teach at Weir High School in Weirton, West Virginia, I applied with fingers crossed.
There wasn’t anything wrong with Virginia; I just wasn’t supposed to be there, I think. I drove the eight hours from Richmond for a midweek interview in West Virginia. I felt good enough about the interview, but I wasn’t supremely confident. On the drive back, I got the call about an hour in.
I’d say the next ten years were a blur, but they weren’t. The hundreds of students that moved in and out or around the corner of A Building grew used to my antics, but whatever is remembered of me, this is what I recall: we all grew so much.
I responded to journal entries brave enough to expose difficulties others knew not. We shared the triumph of characters and unexpected plot twists. We laughed at errant comments, and we shared silent tears when life’s challenges were tougher than we predicted. We read plays, short stories, and novels. We watched films that showed something that might otherwise have gone unseen, unnoticed. We played ball games, earned playoffs, endured tournaments, volunteered for students vs. faculty games, won contests, and danced through dozens of nights. We were in love with the day, even if the rearview sometimes showed pain, and even though the future held uncertainty. How I’ll never forget what it meant to accept each other even when we were not emotionally ready to be honest, or when disagreements created rifts that took too long to bridge. It was real life.
I’ve been gone for ten years, and when I visit the Ohio Valley, it’s sad to see the slow slip of time finally seeping into those areas immortalized in memory. All the wrong turns and right lucks are still whispered by the trees in the hills of old neighborhoods. The mill has closed for good, and those new jobs never did make it all the way to the nooks and crannies of a formerly industrial infrastructure. Still, there is resilience. Nobody is giving up, but like a fighter who is outmatched and refuses to quit, you root for the fight to go the distance. West Virginia has a good chin: I think this one’s going to go to decision.
I cannot list all of the students who were a part of my most formative decade. They deserve honor separately. There isn’t a post long enough to do them justice. Their character arcs alone demand a longer form.
Twenty years is a long time, but it’s not because of the days that make up the months that collect to become years. It’s long in the way you trace the plot movements. It’s the way the twists changed the original outline. That is why the words are so important. They were always going to go somewhere.
I’m heading into a new era, but I carry the unexpected joys and crushing defeats just inside my jacket pocket. To all who walked it with me, I thank you. I couldn’t have weathered life’s disappointments without your support. I couldn’t have challenged my shortcomings without the ways you helped me. Most importantly, I could not have understood just how much more is out there without the way you showed me.
It’s odd that three thousand days is only part of a much larger story. Thank you for reading this. I hope we continue to learn to love each moment, or that we remember that there is always another chance already on its way, or one waiting to be born.
What a curious thing, to feel hope for a falling action far afield.
Here’s to another 3000.
thewordswillgosomewhere 
Fantastic! the years, the milestones are just a small part of your journey. The care you took with the people you met along the way is the beauty in you! Being present while others are becoming themselves.. no words for how many lives you’ve touch in a positive way!
That’s kind of you, sir. I certainly appreciate your words. Twenty years is a long time, and I needed to put something down so that people knew at least something of what it was like. There’s still so much more to see, hear, and do!
Hey Mac! I have no idea if you would even remember me, But my name is Ian Gryskevich, and I was one of your students. I had you first period of my freshman year. And your class has always stuck with me.
I’m in a bit of an insomnia episode caused by my unmedicated intermittent insomnia, combined with the fact I’m nervous for my job interview tomorrow, and I managed to find this blog. So forgive me if this is a bit all over the place. I assure you I am much more articulate in person.
I just wanted to thank you. You were one of my favorite teachers, and honestly one of the only teachers during my highschool tenure that didn’t make me feel less than a person for my troubles.
I was absent a lot from school, and that was because of a lot of issues both at/with the High School and at home. And regretibly, I never graduated.
But you were always one of the bright spots in school for me. You were the most animated English teacher I had ever scene. Quite frankly, if you had told me that Robin Williams had given you teaching tips from his role in Dead Poets Society, I would believe you without a second thought.
You were the first teacher that made Shakespeare and poetry in general not completely boring, and helped foster a love of storytelling and world building that still burns in my heart to this day.
It was great having a teacher that felt closer to the students age, rather than most of the other faculty of Weir High that felt like they all should have retired at least 2 decades prior. You knew video games and pop culture that was familiar to us kids, and you always felt approachable.
I remember being saddened when I learned sophomore year that I wouldn’t be in your class and that you no longer taught at weir. I’m not putting any blame on you for my dropping out, but knowing on of my favorite teachers was no longer there certainly didn’t help my want to leave Weir for good.
Life has been ups and downs for every since those days, and my days have been more downs lately, but I can feel it in my bones that I’m on a upswing.
Before I ramble too much further, I just want to say thank you again. I never stopped pursuing knowledge and I’d like to think you are one of the reasons for that.
I’m an Amateur brewer now, and since it became legal in 2024 in WV, I have started distilling my own liquor. If you are ever in the Ohio Valley again, I’d love to share a drink and a bottle of each along with a chat for a while.
Feel free to say no, but I leave the offer there to show my gratitude.
i wish you all the best in your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Ian ‘Stiffdawg’ Gryskevich
Hi Ian! It’s great to hear from you, and I certainly appreciate the kind words.
One of the things that we must remember as we go through life (in any decade) is that much of our growth is dependent on a kind of decision-reaction-reflection cycle. Your decision to drop out led to other opportunities, and you have made good on those paths. I love the fact that you are an amateur brewer!
I am honored that I played any part at all in your pursuit of knowledge. Pursuit of Self is part of that, and–if we’re lucky–we find someone to share this wild experience with. This timeline is a challenging one, so when things aren’t going well, remember to give yourself and others grace. We’re all in this together.
If your insomnia persists, consider a sleep clinic. I’ve had battles with sleeplessness, and during those phases, I wasn’t even remotely myself. It was a bummer.
I’ll get ahold of you the next time I’m in the Valley. Best of luck in everything you do–keep on keepin’ on!
Mac