by Dave ThompsonBainbridge Island, Washington, USA
Mr. Dalton was one of the “good” teachers — one who smiled because he was genuinely happy and was passionate about teaching us a subject he clearly loved: plane geometry. I was a quiet, socially inept kid who just didn’t say much. I neither got in much trouble nor got noticed. Today, they would call me a nerd. Somehow, plane geometry really clicked for me in his class.
Toward the end of the year, Mr. Dalton wanted to check our knowledge of geometry and gave us a 25-question true/false nationally standardized test. The test presented each problem with a conclusion shown. If we could prove the result using our theorems, the answer was true. If it couldn’t be proved, it was false.
I ripped through 24 problems, but number 17 was a challenge! I knew intuitively that I could prove it, but it wasn’t obvious how. I spent 30 minutes on that proof, covering my page with auxiliary lines, parallelograms, and congruencies, until the proof was there at last . Satisfied, I marked the question true and handed in the test.
When the results came back the next day, my score was a 96, and number 17 was marked wrong! When Mr. Dalton asked if there were any questions, for the first time, my hand shot up. “The correct answer to number 17 is true!”
Instead of arguing that this was a nationally standardized test and what could I possibly know about the answer, Mr. Dalton did the most powerful thing I have ever seen a teacher do. Saying nothing, smiling encouragingly, he held out his chalk to me from the front of the room.
I went to the board for the first time and demonstrated my proof to the class. I used the whole board and three different colors of chalk. In the end, everyone agreed, with applause no less, that the correct answer was true. Mr. Dalton (with that impish grin on his face) asked if anyone else had come up with that proof, and of course, no one spoke up. He gave credit for the correct answer on number 17, and I ended up with a grade of 104.
That event happened 37 years ago. When I returned to my hometown after many years, I looked Mr. Dalton up to thank him for allowing me to challenge his authority. Alzheimer’s had claimed his mind, but he still had that impish, happy grin.
Since that day in his geometry class, I have had no problem speaking to a group as long as I’m sure I’m right. His gift has served me well. So here’s to you, Mr. Dalton, and all the other teachers who empower students. Rest assured, your gifts continue to improve the lives of your students as long as they live.
(Editor’s Note: Author Dave Thompson is the president of Educational Fontware, Inc. — http://www.EducationalFontware.com — a company that provides handwriting fonts to primary and special education teachers and parents.)
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