In memory of a teacher

I wouldn’t say I had a calling to become a teacher. I have never experienced an epochal parting of the clouds and a choir of angels accompanying a slant of sunlight landing squarely on my chest.

In fact, as an undergraduate at Plymouth State University in the mid-90s, I wanted, first and foremost, to be a writer and I figured that I’d teach high school to foot the bills while the next Great American novel waited in gestation.

And, yes, working conditions for public school teachers today—particularly since the pandemic—have been strained by fastidious parents and brittle admininstrations but, at the end of the day, I’m proud of my profession and my decision to enter into it.

But I would not be the teacher am I today if it weren’t for one dedicated and passionate English professor who I had in multiple courses at Plymouth State. In fact, if it were not for Meg Petersen, I doubt very much that I would’ve ever stepped foot in a classroom.

I also know there are thousands of Meg’s former students—some of whom may be reading this right now—who would wholeheartedly agree.

Sadly, Meg passed away on Thursday, Oct. 19 in her home in Plymouth, but her legacy and commitment to educating English teachers while preparing her students to enter the profession will never be forgotten, and her work will never be replaced.

I found out about Meg’s passing through social media, and the outpouring of love and praise from colleagues, former students and friends was effusive.

But I can only speak to my own experiences as Meg’s student, a fellow writer and, recently, a colleague as an adjunct instructor at SNHU.

I could write tomes praising Meg’s work in the classroom. In all honesty—and this isn’t slightly hyperbolic—Meg was one of the finest teachers I’ve ever seen in a classroom. Her generosity and kindness toward her students, her tireless work, planning and encouragement were inimitable.

However, I will most remember Meg for teaching me how to marry my life as a teacher and a writer. It was Meg who first pushed me to submit my work for publication. She was always compiling and publishing anthologies of teacher’s and student’s writing, emphasizing that all-important final step in the writing process: publication.

How Meg found the time and energy to spin so many plates, I will never know. But had I not placed my first short stories in some of those publications, you might not be reading this right now. She encouraged me to keep writing and, for that, I am forever indebted.

Last fall, on my first day of teaching College Composition at SNHU, I passed a classroom next to my own on the second floor of Robert Frost Hall and stopped to do a double-take. I could’ve sworn I was teaching beside my former professor. The woman in the classroom looked just like Meg.

So I went home that night and wrote to the department head and asked if Meg Petersen was teaching adjunct there. It turned out my eyes weren’t deceiving me, so I sent Meg an email. She got right back to me.

Meg and I met up after our respective classes the next day and chatted for quite a while. I was tickled by the fact that my career had seemingly come full circle, and I was now colleagues with a teacher who I respected so much.

We talked about a lot of things—our lives, our writing and, of course, teaching. And we made tentative plans to meet up for coffee after class someday, but we were both busy, and it never materialized. I really wish now I had made that more of a priority.

I also realize there was something important that I never got to say to Meg. I never got to say “thank you.”

So thank you, Meg.

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[A celebration of Meg’s life will be held at 11 a.m. on Dec. 9 in Heritage Commons at Plymouth State University. For more information, visit here.]