Who were my teachers?

I keep coming back to that question, but not because I’m reflecting on the man who tried to teach me algebra or the English teacher who made me memorize a long list of books and authors.

It’s an interesting question when you’re taking inventory of your life. I look back on so, so many years of living and wonder how I retained all the little things I just seem to know.

I know the difference between a claw hammer and a ball-peen. I can drive a stick shift. I love saying the word onomatopoeia ever since I learned what it means. (I still look it up to spell it.)

This seems trivial now but all these tidbits are in my bag of knowledge. I have no idea how much knowledge I have. I just pull stuff out when needed and there are times it actually surprises me. I wonder, how do I even know that? Which begs the question ... who taught me?

Parents deserve a lot of credit. They had something to do with me learning to walk and talk. But who were all the others who helped fill my bag of know-how?

Now let me put a little spin on this train of thought. This comes from John Locke, an English philosopher who had interesting thoughts on human understanding and learning.

Locke said experience is the source of all ideas and our mind is a blank slate at birth. Which means we are taught everything. Everything? Is that true? What about basic animal instinct? Do squirrels teach each other to bury nuts everywhere? Or is that animal instinct? Don’t we have natural instincts that guide us?

Whatever. I think Locke’s basic premise makes sense. Most of the stuff we know or think we know was learned.

I don’t want to dive too deep into Locke’s philosophy. I’m more interested in the question left hanging. Who were my teachers? How did I learn what I know? OK, right now you’re asking a more relevant question. Why am I wasting time with that question?

Well, part of me wants to thank “teachers” who impacted my life. Much of my life I was absorbing knowledge. Or as Locke would say, I was experiencing life. It may have been my dad who said, “Hand me that ball-peen hammer.” Or more likely it was a shop teacher in junior high. I’m just guessing. But I did not register it as an educational moment. But it was.

What’s fascinating is that I remember even though I had very little use for hammers in my career. (Although I do recall starting a list once titled: “Things you can fix with a hammer.” I think the telephone was on that list.)

I’ve had thousands of moments in life that were learning events outside of a classroom. I wasn’t taking notes or memorizing for a test. I was simply absorbing. Yeah, experience is definitely a great teacher.

So here I am, feeling gratitude and wonder and amazement at what I know. And that I am still learning. I could list teachers who deserve applause. And thank you, Mom and Dad and family and friends who have taught me so much.

And much of what I have learned about life also has come from books – characters struggling with their own lives. Along with movies, TV and art, plus watching and listening.

I also will pat myself on the back for all the times I asked questions – the best start to learning and understanding.

So, who were my teachers? The simple answer is this: Everyone. I learn from everyone I encounter and the worlds I live in and visit. Even the squirrels burying those nuts.

This whole learning thing never stops, does it? It’s even part of what we leave behind.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail the NewsTribune, 426 Second St., La Salle IL 61301.