A teachers' day close to retirement

This year, Teachers' Day feels different to me. I have seen many such days come and go during my academic life, usually marked by greetings from students, a few affectionate messages, some flowers, perhaps a small ceremony, and then a return to the familiar rhythm of lectures, meetings and departmental work. But this year there is an added emotion. Retirement is now very close, and what was once an ordinary annual observance has become a moment of reflection. Retirement changes the meaning of routine. A classroom that once seemed part of everyday life suddenly begins to look precious. A casual conversation with a student, a question after class, even a familiar walk through the corridor acquires a different significance when one knows that these moments are becoming fewer. Teachers' Day, therefore, is not merely a celebration this year. It is also a reminder of how quickly decades pass. When one begins teaching, the concerns are practical. Prepare the lecture, complete the course, set the examination, supervise students, conduct research and meet deadlines. One does not think much about legacy. With time, however, it becomes clear that teaching is not really about completing syllabi. It is about leaving impressions, often without even knowing that one has done so. A teacher may forget a sentence spoken twenty years ago, but a student may remember it for life. Many of us have experienced the surprise of meeting former students who recall an explanation, a piece of advice or even a passing remark that we ourselves no longer remember. That is perhaps the most humbling aspect of the profession: teachers rarely know which words will stay with their students. As someone who has spent much of his life teaching science, I have always believed that education must do more than transmit information. Science teaches a way of thinking. It demands evidence, encourages questioning, rewards curiosity and reminds us that even strongly held ideas must remain open to correction. In societies where unquestioning acceptance is often easier than intellectual inquiry, this habit of mind is especially valuable. But teaching has never been a one-way process. Students also educate their teachers. Each generation brings its own language, attitudes, habits and expectations. Today's Gen Z students are very different from those I taught decades ago. They are digitally connected, more expressive, less formal and often less hesitant to challenge authority. Their attention spans may be shorter, but their access to information is extraordinary. They may prefer a meme, a reel or a short message to the long handwritten notes of earlier generations, but the need for guidance has not disappeared. Teachers sometimes complain that the new generation has changed too much. Of course it has changed. Every generation does. The important question is not whether young people resemble us, but whether we are willing to understand the world in which they are growing up. A teacher who stops learning from students has already begun to retire, regardless of age. The relationship between teacher and student also survives technological change. Blackboards may become smart boards, libraries may become digital databases and lectures may migrate online, but a student still needs encouragement. A student still needs someone to say, "You can do better." A student still needs a teacher who can distinguish between failure and potential. That is why I am not entirely convinced that teachers truly retire. An official position ends. The name disappears from the timetable. Someone else occupies the chair. But the instinct to teach remains. One continues to explain, advise, question, recommend books and feel pleased when a younger person understands something difficult. As retirement approaches, I find myself reflecting on decades of students, colleagues, classrooms, challenges and achievements. Universities endure while generations of students and teachers pass through them, each becoming part of the institution's continuing story. This Teachers' Day, I feel gratitude more than ceremony, for a profession that kept me connected with youth, learning and inquiry. I may soon leave the classroom officially, but the classroom will remain an enduring part of me.