It may not be common for a 60-something-year-old woman to break down in tears upon hearing of the passing of one of her elementary school teachers.
But everyone did not have Joe Antonacci, Sr. for sixth grade.
Mr. Antonacci was a wonderful teacher. Because of him, I can do timetables in my head and still name the capitals of scores of countries – and, if asked to do so, could surely point to them on a map with a rubber-tipped wooden stick in less than 30 seconds.
Thanks to Mr. Antonacci, I know when to write “principal” instead of “principle,” and “stationary” instead of “stationery.”
And I think of Mr. Antonacci whenever I write a business letter because he taught me how to always spell “sincerely” right. (Just think “since-rely,” which I repeat in my head every single time I write the word).
But more important, I can remember what it felt like being the only Black student in my sixth-grade class (and one of fewer than a handful in the entire school), having moved to a new town at perhaps the worst time a child could be dropped into an unfamiliar environment, struggling to fit in with a cohort of white kids who had been together since kindergarten, and to have a teacher show extraordinary kindness and patience toward me and such unflagging confidence in my intellect and abilities that I didn’t shrink, but thrived.
Mr. Antonacci made a difference in my life, and I am and will always be grateful to him.
I’m glad that we reconnected later in life and I had several opportunities to tell him how much I appreciate all that he had done for me. And it was always a pleasure to hear him talk about the immense pride he felt, not only in me, but in all of the students whose lives he had touched.
Mr. Antonacci’s death makes me sad, but memories of him warm my heart and remind me of the good we can do.
Thank you, Mr. Antonacci for the great and gentle good you did. I will never forget you.
Since-rely,
Your forever grateful student