The Ides of March: A Birthday, a Lesson, and Lasting Gratitude

Having a mid-March birthday has always felt like a gift to me. My motto? Celebrate all month long, with one special day in the middle—reserved for something sweet. This year’s choice: the most divine slice of cheesecake I could have asked for.

My birthday falls on the Ides of March. Ever since high school English, I’ve loved calling it that—even if the reference itself is a bit… ominous. The Ides of March, March 15, is most famously known as the day Julius Caesar was assassinated in 44 BCE. And of course, “Beware the Ides of March” lives on thanks to William Shakespeare and his play Julius Caesar. Not exactly a cheerful association—but I still claim it.

What I really loved about that connection wasn’t the history—it was the class, and more importantly, the teacher. Mrs. McClain was an absolute gem. She loved cats, proudly drove around Sabetha with her Pitt State plate, and made learning feel meaningful. She was someone who saw her students, encouraged them, and truly cared. I was honored when she played piano at my wedding—just one example of the lasting impact she had on my life.  Looking back, I feel incredibly lucky for my years at Sabetha High School. My graduating class was small, just over 50 students, and I genuinely loved my teachers. School wasn’t easy for me—I had to study, push myself, and really learn the material—but that’s exactly what made it valuable.

Now, as a therapist working with teenagers, I hear a very different story. So many describe their teachers as disconnected or unkind. It makes me wonder—what changed? When did things shift? And more importantly, how do we find our way back?  Because those teachers still exist. I’ve seen them up close. My mom was one of them—demanding, yes, but always respectful and deeply invested in her students.  (I would know she was my teacher once too).  And my husband is one now. Just this weekend, one of his students ran up to our car to give him a hug and tell him she missed him. Others send messages, write notes, and share how much he’s impacted their lives.

Those educators—the ones who truly connect—feel fewer and farther between these days. And that makes me all the more grateful for the ones I’ve had.  This week, I’m asking the teens I work with to write a letter of gratitude to someone who’s impacted their life. Maybe that’s something we could all do.  I can’t send a letter to Mrs. McClain now, but I hope she always knew just how special she was—and how much she shaped who I became.