Mr. Borszich was my high-school Brit Lit teacher.
At the time, I had no idea I'd become an English teacher myself.
Rather, I was a highly distracted, social, goof-off of a student. For me, classes filled the yawning maw between passing periods, when all the good stuff happened: stolen nicotine puffs, flirtatious overtures, clandestine planning for weekend shenanigans.
I only remember two of my high-school English teachers. One was my creative writing teacher who passed me with a mercy D- after I failed to turn in most of my assignments.
The other was Allen Borszich.
It was in Mr. Borszich's class that I read my first Shakespeare play: Macbeth. I loved it.
As a teacher who now teaches Shakespeare myself, I am awed that Mr. Borszich was able to somehow wrangle the attention of my 17-year-old mess-of-a-teenage self.
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Forty years after sitting in his classroom, I have only hazy memories of the lessons, but my sustained emotional memory of Mr. Borszich's class is positive.
Let me share one vivid memory:
I had Brit Lit right after lunch. Back in the day, watching a film meant pulling down all the window shades and firing up a clackety reel-to-reel movie projector.
A full stomach, a dark room, and soothing white noise combined for the perfect napping atmosphere.
One day at the end of class, I awoke with a pool of sleepy drool on my desk. Mr. Borszich asked me if I'd like him to bring me a pillow.
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Honestly, I loved Mr. Borszich's response to my REM time on film days. He used humor to work us past what other teachers might have turned into an unneeded battle.
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My own teaching has been molded by the few and precious teachers who recognized my "misbehaviors" as cries against boredom, as my flighty inability to organize my thoughts in tidy, school-friendly ways.
Mr. Borszich was one of these few teachers. He made me feel smart and valued despite my sleeping in drool puddles on movie days.
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Tonight when I read his obituary, I realized that when he was my teacher, I thought he was an old man. He was, in fact, 41.
He died at the age of 84.
He died of COVID-19.
His obituary closes with this:
In lieu of flowers or donations, please take a moment and reach out to a dear friend or relative. Read a book together, discuss some philosophy, play a card game, or enjoy a nice beverage. Al loved simple things and we know this is what would make him happiest.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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| My wonderful newspaper team captured our masked final class period with MH, who is moving to Illinois. |
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