Senora Dort by Ashley

Senora Dort by Ashley - July 2014 Scholarship Essay

I recently lost one of my favorite teachers of all times to cancer, my high school Spanish teacher Michele Dort. Being the middle of three children, I was used to coming into a new school year and already being known by the teachers who had had my sister in their classes. I got used to being known as “the other Mercier.” When I found out I was to have Señora Dort for my sophomore Spanish class, I was expecting the same thing: trying to live up to expectations teachers had because of my sister.

Walking into the classroom on the first day, I wasn’t “the other Mercier.” Not to Señora Dort. I was simply Ashley, and later Alejandra, as we were all told to pick different names for class. She was the highlight of each of our days, always standing outside her classroom as we piled inside greeting us by name, asking about life and school, and reminding us in her own special way, which usually included barring the door with her five-foot frame, what we needed for class that day. Sophomore year flew by and not only did we learn Spanish, but we learned about life in that classroom.

Junior year started and we got Señora Dort again because she had switched with another teacher to move to the higher levels of Spanish. Junior year was also the preparation year for a summer trip to Spain with Señora Dort. When I think back, I don’t recall classroom assignments or activities. I remember wanting to run to Señora’s room when I got a part in the school musical. I remember staying after school and helping decide which cities we wanted to visit on our trip to Spain. I remember seeing my tiny teacher hugging a defensive linebacker because he was falling apart about an issue in his life.

On our thirteen-day trip around Spain, the entire group of us, including Señora and the other adult chaperones, became a small family. We laughed, we fought, we cried, and we shared what for most of us would be an once-in-a-lifetime experience. The centerpiece of that whole trip was Señora Dort. Señora gave me my first drink of wine; in the middle of every group picture, there she stood, the rest of us towering over her; when I stood on the middle of a stage in an ancient amphitheater and sang the national anthem, I looked down and her smile was the biggest.

As we started our senior year, and along with that started filling out college applications, we were all being asked what our plans were. The only answer I could give was that I wanted to be “la proxima Señora Dort.” I wanted to be her. I wanted kids to come visit me at my second job on Homecoming night to take a picture with me. I wanted to be with students that I taught for three or four years when they experienced the culture shock of leaving their home country and being immersed in a place so different from everything they had ever known. I wanted to jump up and down in front of the television screen because someone had distracted me from censoring the movie we were watching. I wanted to be the only teacher let in on the senior skip day secret. I wanted to be the teacher my students came to when they lost a loved one and needed someone to just let them cry. I could think of no greater tribute than becoming a teacher just like Señora.

I liked school, but I felt like most teachers weren’t passionate about what they were doing. I learned what the district said we needed to learn, and I moved on to the next class with the next list of objectives. Señora Dort taught us what we needed to learn, but she taught us in a way that made us salivate for more knowledge. She never let us think we were just another group of students to her. To the day she died, she would contact me on my birthday to ask how I was and wish me well. Losing her this year was extremely hard, even though I hadn’t seen her since the day I graduated high school, a day I remember not only for the significance to me, but because I could hear Señora cheering loudly for each of her seniors.

I guess she didn’t just impact my view on education. She impacted how I saw the world and how I interacted with those around me. I didn’t become “la proxima Señora Dort.” I didn’t even take another Spanish class. I realized it wasn’t the language I loved. It was simply her that I loved. It was her view on life and her positivity through everything, including chemo and cancer. She affected all of us in a way that made her not only the best teacher we had, but also one of the best people we had ever known. I won’t ever forget her and as I build my career in nursing, I will remember every day that she would be proud of me.