There are plenty of academic subjects I don't feel comfortable

Hear the voice of Leslyn Lewis, spoken with reverence for those who guide the young: “There are plenty of academic subjects I don’t feel comfortable teaching my high-school-aged son, and I honour teachers for their patience and dedication to educating the next generation.” These words are simple, yet they resound with the weight of truth: that the calling of the teacher is among the highest of human labors, for it shapes not only minds, but the very future of civilization itself.

When Lewis confesses her discomfort in teaching certain academic subjects, she speaks for many parents who, though they love their children dearly, cannot walk with them in every field of knowledge. This is not failure, but recognition of human limitation. No one soul can master all wisdom. Thus, society entrusts its children to the care of teachers, whose calling is to dedicate their lives to the patient unfolding of knowledge. This trust is sacred, for it is through these guides that the young are prepared to inherit the world.

Her words shine brightest when she speaks of patience and dedication. For the teacher’s task is not like planting seeds in fertile soil, but often like sowing upon stony ground. Children wrestle with distraction, doubt, rebellion, or despair. Yet the teacher waits, encourages, repeats, and persists, believing that even the most reluctant seed will one day take root. This patience is not passive—it is active endurance, a quiet heroism that is too often unseen. And the dedication of teachers, their willingness to labor for years with little glory, is a testament to the nobility of their vocation.

History gives us many examples of this sacred labor. Think of Socrates, who never wrote his wisdom, but instead devoted his life to questioning and guiding the youth of Athens, planting seeds that his student Plato would later nurture into philosophy that has lasted millennia. Or consider Anne Sullivan, the teacher of Helen Keller, who through tireless patience broke through the silence and darkness of her pupil’s world, opening the gates of communication and possibility. These are monuments not built of stone, but of living souls, shaped by the steady hand of a teacher.

Lewis’s words also remind us of humility. For parents and leaders alike must admit that they cannot do all things alone. The work of raising a generation is too vast for one set of hands. It requires a community, and at the center of that community stand the teachers, whose daily devotion ensures that knowledge, values, and wisdom are passed on. To honour teachers, then, is not only to show gratitude, but to recognize their role as guardians of the future.

The lesson for us is clear: let us not take for granted those who labor in classrooms, often with little recognition or reward. Let us support them, encourage them, and remember that their work is nothing less than the preservation of civilization. Just as soldiers defend borders and doctors defend health, teachers defend knowledge, without which no nation, no family, no future can endure.

Practically, this means showing respect to educators, ensuring they have the tools and resources to succeed, and reminding our children of the dignity of learning. It means cultivating patience in ourselves as well, learning from their example, and remembering that true growth often comes slowly. Above all, it means acknowledging that the work of teaching is holy work, deserving of honor.

Thus the words of Leslyn Lewis stand as both confession and tribute: she admits her own limits, and in doing so, raises high the work of teachers. May we carry this lesson forward—that to teach is to serve not just the present, but the next generation, and that through patience and dedication, teachers become the unseen architects of tomorrow’s world.