Ms. McTigue became an English teacher because she wanted to share her enthusiasm for reading and writing with young people. Three decades later, as she embarks on retirement, that passion, and the laughter it brought her, remains the defining memory of a career spent in classrooms, mentoring students, and building a community within the walls of Brewster High School.

Fresh out of SUNY Plattsburgh in 1995, she landed a teaching position at Wells Middle School where she spent three formative years before realizing she wanted to work with older students, though she clarifies “not that middle schoolers weren’t cool in their own unique ways.” So, she moved to Brewster High School, where she would spend the remainder of her career building relationships, shaping writers, and creating memories that would extend far beyond the hallways. One particular honor stands out from her three decades of service: being asked to deliver the keynote speech at the NHS induction ceremony in 2014. She describes it as both thrilling and terrifying. “I had grown so fond of those seniors,” she reflects. To be recognized by students at such a pivotal moment in their academic careers was a true highlight, a testament to the impact she’d had on their lives. As she reflects on her retirement, the things she’ll miss are deceptively simple. “I laugh all the time doing this job,” she says. “Not everyone is lucky enough to say that.” It’s the laughter with students, with colleagues, and at herself. There’s the camaraderie and community, that unspoken agreement that “we’re all in this together.” There’s the promise that comes with every September: the fresh start, a blank slate. And yes, even the magic of snow days and unexpected early dismissals.

But for her, retirement also brings relief. No more bringing work home on weekends, no more grading essays deep into the evening, no more contending with what she calls “crippling, soul-crushing student apathy.” She won’t miss those early mornings, too, though she aspires to become a morning person in retirement. “We’ll see how that goes,” she says with characteristic humor.

During her time here, her students taught her far more than any curriculum could. Over her career, she learned patience and empathy. She discovered that English isn’t every young person’s interest, “and that’s okay.” She learned that power struggles lead nowhere, that young people can be both cruel and beautifully kind in equal measure, and that each new day truly must begin fresh, without resentment or judgment. Perhaps most importantly, she learned humility. “It’s imperative to laugh at myself and boldly admit that I don’t know the answer,” she explains. She also learned that students are individuals, not carbon copies of their older siblings, and that young people are stronger and more resilient than most adults she knows. They’re also “wicked talented” in countless areas.

For anyone beginning their career at Brewster High School, she offers the following practical wisdom earned through decades in the trenches.

1. Stay quiet and observe for a bit to get the lay of the land.
2. Befriend the custodial and front office staff because “we all need our bacon saved once in a while.”
3. Trust the wisdom of veteran teachers and find a community within the building that supports and defends you.
4. Give yourself grace.
5. And finally, “count to 10, or higher” before hitting send on that email.

Her story doesn’t end in the school building. She’s the kind of person who got her head sat on by the legendary Phillie Phanatic while cheering on the New York Mets at Citizens Bank Park, which she says was “totally random, totally iconic, once in a lifetime.” Her favorite international city so far is Budapest, which she recommends everyone visit. In the meantime, she suggests hopping on a train to New York City and exploring its abundance of free attractions. (“The Morgan Library & Museum is insane.”) In retirement, she plans to finally learn to play her ukulele well, or at least significantly better than she currently does. There’s something almost poetic about this goal: she mentions how you can’t play sad songs on a ukulele, so even picking it up becomes an act of optimism. Beyond the ukulele lessons and potential visits to independent bookstores, she plans to take her retirement one day at a time. No grand master plan, just presence.

And who knows? Maybe one day, years from now, a former student will spot her working at that really cool independent bookstore. They’ll catch up over a shared love of books, and she’ll hear all about their adventures and what they’re currently reading, and they’ll share a smile. That’s the kind of ending befitting a career spent nurturing young minds and celebrating the joy of stories. Not a finale, but a new chapter.