I Acted Out In Class Twelve Years Ago and I Am Really, Really Sorry

Every now and then I take a day off from writing and pick up jobs as a substitute teacher. It gets me out of the house. And--let's be honest--into pants.

Today I subbed for the instrumental music teacher at my own junior high school, and naturally the nostalgia hit me hard.

I wouldn't say junior high was the best three years of my life. It was more like puberty itself: awkward, anxiety-inducing, and smelly. But I do have plenty of good memories from that time, and thankfully, those are what I remember best. Walking the halls today I saw, in my mind's eye, my seventh-grade pals clustered on the cafeteria stage; the ham and cheese and potato chip sandwich that I always ate for lunch; affable Mr. Lyman, the "potions master," storming into class at a meeting of the Harry Potter Club.

It was good to be back.

I could speak at length on how it felt to be the teacher now--how it felt to sit in the high conductor's chair, wave the baton for the band and orchestra, use my teacher voice on students doing the same dumb things I used to do.

But my favorite part of subbing at my old school today was the opportunity to finally apologize to a teacher whose class I had been obnoxious in.

In all my years of school I mostly performed well in academics. But some years, for whatever reason, my behavior didn't match my intellect. Ninth grade was one of those; I earned straight A's, but my teachers probably couldn't wait to kick me out come June.

Ninth grade me. Don't let the polo fool you; behind those buttons beats the heart of a deranged lunatic.

I probably gave no one else a harder time than my science teacher. I can't explain why; she was one of my favorites that year. She used They Might Be Giants songs to help us remember things, and I still know that the sun turns hydrogen into helium at a temperature of millions of degrees. I really had no reason to act out, except that class did happen to be right after lunch.

But lunch is no excuse, and I've felt badly about my behavior ever since. So today I took a chance to make things right: I visited my old science teacher.

"Hi," I said as I approached her desk. Then, in one breath, "I'm-on-my-way-back-to-my-classroom-and-you-probably-don't-remember-me-but-I'm-one-of-your-old-students-and-I-wanted-to-say-hi."

She smiled. "I might remember you. What's your name?"

"Nathan Cunningham?"

She almost stood up as her smile grew. "Nathan!" she said. "You grew up!"

"Finally." I looked around the room. The tables were smaller than I remembered them. "I was pretty obnoxious in your class, so I came to apologize."

"I don't remember that."

I'm pretty sure I was the worst kid in that class.

"You don't?" I reply.

"Do you know what I remember about you?"

"What?"

"You asked really good questions."

Wow! I thought. Of all the things she could remember about me, she remembers something to be proud of!

"Well, that makes me feel better!" I said. "Thank you."

"Thank you. I'm so glad you came to visit me."

I loved being in the music room today, where I really got my start on the violin. I loved leading the band and orchestra and letting the tables completely turn as I got to teach at my old school.

But visiting my science teacher and losing some guilt I'd carried all these years? That was the highlight of my day.

It wasn't until reflecting on the experience this afternoon that a scripture came to my mind: "Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more (D&C 58:42)."

So that's what that feels like.