Good Teacher — If I Meet One, I’m Fortunate; If Not, It’s My Fate - Cici Tung (About 7-minute read)
Written in Silicon Valley on March 31, 2026. Published by All Dimensions Press™ on April 25, 2026
Translator: Lara Lee
Recently, I opened social media and found the entire internet commemorating teacher Zhang Xuefeng. Please forgive my ignorance. Although I live in Silicon Valley, ground zero for the frenzy of school admissions, I have long kept my distance from the hyper-competitive parenting crowd. Out of curiosity, I clicked on a few of Zhang Xuefeng’s classic videos, and soon understood the weight he carried in the hearts of hundreds of millions of students and their parents, a presence like a lighthouse.
Zhang Xuefeng had helped as many students as possible find the paths they most wished to take within their limited resources. He not only offered emotional support, but also practical, actionable guidance.
According to a classic Chinese saying, “A teacher is one who transmits the Way, imparts knowledge, and resolves doubts.” With students spread far and wide, Zhang Xuefeng was truly worthy of the title.
There are teachers like him, luminous, almost redemptive in their guidance. There are also those who appear in small corners of social news, provoking anger or disdain. But most educators are simply ordinary people, living ordinary lives, three meals a day, four seasons a year, no different from the rest of us, except perhaps for their winter and summer breaks, and the ever-buzzing parent group chats on their phones.
Not long after the start of this school year, my daughter found herself deeply missing her ELA teacher from last year, the one who led them through Shakespeare, encouraged them to write their own plays, organized debates between students and teacher, and even took them indoor rock climbing on her birthday to let off steam.
To my daughter, the new teacher, fresh out of training, simply didn’t appreciate her writing, which had been praised many times by the previous teacher. Imagine her shock when this new teacher suggested that the beauty of an essay lies in its concision, not in dozens of pages of dramatic twists and turns.
That comment broke my daughter’s heart. She had buried herself in writing a seventy-page piece, hoping for abundant praise, perhaps even secretly imagining the teacher might encourage her to submit it for publication. Instead, she met a teacher who either couldn’t finish reading it, had no time to read it, or simply couldn’t appreciate it. All that expectation was wasted.
As I listened to my daughter pour out her frustration, an image sprang to mind: a cow chewing on a peony. I knew it was time for me, as a mother, to serve up a little chicken soup for the soul.
“Come on, Baby,” I said, “let’s talk about whether your teacher really failed to recognize your brilliance. ☺
“First, let’s empathize. If you were this ELA teacher with thirty students, each submitting at least 2,000 words, all to be graded within two days. Even if it takes just half an hour to read each assignment, that’s fifteen hours of grading, and that’s after school. Doesn’t the teacher need to eat or sleep? Tell me yourself, how long does it take you to read seventy pages?
“If you ask me, this teacher is at least honest. If they didn’t read it, they didn’t pretend they did. They didn’t hand out empty praise, nor did they criticize carelessly.
“You know, back when I was in school, there was a rumor about how teachers graded essays. No one ever confirmed whether it was true, but rumors rarely come from nowhere.
“A stack of essays, toss them into the air. The ones that land on the desk get scores above 90; skim them quickly to weed out anything truly bad. The ones that fall on the bed fall into the 80–89 range. The ones on the floor, pick them up, glance through; if nothing stands out, they’re 70–79. Then take an overall look: did anyone submit a blank page? How did the top students do?
“Fifty essays graded in an hour, easily done.”
My daughter listened as if I were reciting something from another world, her eyes wide, utterly stunned. Adorable.
Let’s continue, about my daughter’s unrealistic expectations of this ELA teacher.
I said to her, “All of you students were spoiled by last year’s ELA teacher, Mr. P. He treated you the way a celebrity dotes on fans. That was your good fortune. Since you were lucky enough to cross paths, you should be grateful for that teacher-student bond.”
My daughter frowned. “Then why can’t Mr. C be like Mr. P?”
I smiled. “Different people aren’t the same. Every teacher has their own way, whether they’re new or experienced, they all have their own approach. Students don’t get to choose their favorite teachers. But knowledge doesn’t choose people. As long as you’re willing to learn, it’s there for you.
“Last year, you met a great teacher. You learned not just knowledge, but also how to be a person, how to navigate the world. To be honest, that was pure luck. This year, meeting an ordinary teacher, that’s the norm. So you need to study even more seriously, read widely, read deeply. What matters most is that knowledge ends up in your own mind.
“The worst thing is to study only when you like a teacher, and slack off when you don’t. In the end, the one who loses out is you.
“And another thing, there’s no need to insist that a teacher appreciate you. Your confidence should be built on your own effort, not on someone else’s praise. Your own recognition of yourself matters most. A teacher’s appreciation is just icing on the cake.
“There’s a saying online: I’m not U.S. dollars, I can’t be liked by everyone. And really, would you go ask a teacher who doesn’t appreciate you to write your recommendation letter?”
We kept walking and talking. My daughter’s irritation gradually faded. She relaxed, then suddenly grew curious.
“Mom, did you ever meet any good teachers when you were a student?”
To be honest, it was a little awkward to answer that question. >_<
In my own school years, I hadn’t encountered any famous or particularly inspiring teachers. What I did run into were a few deeply frustrating homeroom teachers. One disliked that I was too young and kept demanding my household registration book, threatening to force me to withdraw. Another made a habit of punishing me, making me stack a chair on top of a desk and climb up to clean high windows, like some old witch out of a story. And there was an especially unreasonable teacher who, because I was the last student to leave after cleaning duty, decided, without evidence, that I had stolen a classmate’s imported mechanical pencil.
The fact that I’ve grown into a relatively well-adjusted adult—I attribute that to the simple blessing of maturing a bit late.
I used to envy the class next door. Their homeroom teacher had beautiful calligraphy, and under that quiet influence, almost every student in that class developed elegant handwriting. Such is the power of example.
I envied their Chinese teacher too, who often led them in reading beautiful essays and poetry aloud, filling their days with a sense of poetry. Unlike our class, where we memorized Lu Xun all day long. If one couldn’t recite his essays, they were ordered to stand outside the classroom as punishment, during class, during breaks, under the curious gaze of the entire grade.
I envied their chemistry teacher as well. While we buried our heads in endless problem sets during self-study periods, he would take his class out to the volleyball court to release stress.
I’m also thankful to the geometry teacher from the neighboring class. During one evening study exam, he chose not to record my score—because I had clearly failed. That small act of kindness preserved my fragile teenage dignity.
When it comes to my own teachers, I am especially grateful to the P.E. teacher who once stood up for me when I was wrongly accused and treated unfairly. Though P.E. wasn’t considered important back then, he possessed the most fundamental quality of a teacher, integrity grounded in facts.
And I remain grateful to my Chinese teacher before the high school track split, who earnestly tried to persuade my father to let me pursue the liberal arts, despite his firm belief that mastering math and science would carry one anywhere in the world. Though she didn’t succeed, I deeply appreciated her recognition of my talent and her quiet favoritism.
Every small kindness I received from teachers during my formative years has stayed vivid in my memory. As for the unfairness and mistreatment, those took years of experience, reflection, and even empathy to come to terms with. I believe it’s the same for every child.
Back then, I encountered my share of injustice. Now it’s my teenage daughter’s turn to experience the four seasons of a real educational journey.
I shared all this with her. Times have changed, now everyone has KPIs. Today, I see teachers primarily as those who “impart knowledge”; “resolving confusion” depends on the situation; as for “transmitting values and life philosophy”, that’s something you can only hope to encounter by chance. After all, in a country as vast as China, there is only one teacher like Zhang Xuefeng who is remembered and mourned across the entire internet.
If you meet a great teacher, quietly cherish it. Remember what shines in them. Learn from it. Reflect on it. Learn how to conduct yourself, learn empathy, learn openness and inclusiveness. Learn that life is not just about admissions, it also holds poetry, friendships, community, and, of course, the distant horizons waiting ahead.
My baby, learning is a lifelong journey, driven from within.
A good teacher, if you meet one, it’s your good fortune; if not, it’s simply your fate. The odds are no better than turning a corner and falling into love. Most of the time, ordinary people meet ordinary teachers. Whether sparks fly, that’s almost a matter of chance.
But knowledge does not choose people. As long as you learn with sincerity, there will always be something gained.
About the Author
Cici Tung was born in China and now lives in Silicon Valley in the United States. A literary-minded soul paired with the straightforward logic of a science-and-engineering girl, she turns laughter, irritation, and everything in between into writing. She still carries a youthful spirit—though she may have gained a few pounds over the years, she insists it’s all “substance.”
© Cici Tung 2026 Copyright
All Dimensions PressTM
Personal reading, sharing, and forwarding are warmly encouraged. Please keep the author's name and All Dimensions PressTM visible. Unauthorized commercial use is prohibited.
If you have any thoughts or reflections on this article, please feel free to send us an email. Every message will be read carefully, and selected responses may be shared in the future.
Email: laralee.author@gmail.com
Website: https://www.alldimensionspress.com
YouTube Channel：https://www.youtube.com/@AllDimensionsPress
Wenxuecity Blog：https://blog.wenxuecity.com/myoverview/83885/
Article Information
Category: Non Fiction / Essay
Tags: Youth / Family / Teacher
