To this day, I don’t understand the significance of Fels’s yellow pen. Wherever she is—whether it be in class, during morning meeting or even as she’s eating lunch—she has the mustard-colored piece of plastic clutched in her hand.

Maybe it would make sense if it was a real pen. But, no. She doesn’t even use it. She never even takes the cap off.

But it would be unfair to roast only Fels. She’s certainly not the only quirky teacher.

What would Country Day be without Mr. Neukom’s desire to know the 411 on every student’s prom date? Or without “Millsie-poo” (Millsback) and his frequent stories about his cat, Mishka (a.k.a. Fatty Pie Pie)? It’s these idiosyncratic qualities of teachers—and their willingness to be open about them with us—that have made my high-school experience unique.

I could never forget the second day of freshman year, when my eyes grew teary after Mr. Neukom ripped up my history homework. It was then that I learned to, first, never write in pencil, and, second, always staple my papers together at an exact 45-degree angle.

Four years later, as I sat in his AP European history class, I distinctly remember the day when he called me names after he had a long debate with Fels about where I should have gone to college. Just a few weeks earlier, Fels had punched me off a desk. And Mr. Wells once taught my sophomore English class that the key to leading a successful life was “stealing your friends’ pennies.”

But name-calling, punching and stealing aren’t all that the teachers are good at. Some—namely, Ms. Hefty—can make brownies, too.

And then there’s Dr. Baird, who can’t really bake, but likes eating cookies and can do a great impression of the Cookie Monster if you’re stressed out and need a good laugh.

Others, like Ms. Nellis—often called “snellis” by the junior boys—are always willing to drive to school and enter the security code for the Cave when the Octagon staff has accidentally set off the alarm for the third weekend in a row. (We love you, by the way).

Life at Country Day would never be complete without Ms. Batarseh’s frequent, misleadingly-named “Toga Walks” to Loehmann’s Plaza or the AP Latin class’s “shrine to Moloch.”

Of course, it fell apart after the class of ’07 discovered that Dr. Bell was the real, almighty God—and Wikipedia proved us right.

But aside from their quirks and amusing personalities, there’s something else about the teachers here that I will always cherish—that they actually care about their students.

For example, if you came to school wearing an Arcteryx brand sweatshirt, Mr. Wymore would joyfully give you a 10-minute speech on the history of the Archaeopteryx species. Or, if you forgot which isotope of iodine underwent positron emission, you could e-mail Ms. Nicholson and she would likely get back to you within seconds.

Yes, there are days when teachers can be “mean” and load us down with work. But, even in the middle of the night when you’re studying for one of Dr. Baird’s ridiculously hard World Cultures exams, or when you’re stuck in the Matthews Library all weekend working on the Glass Knife, don’t lose sight that your teachers are in this, too. The next night, it will be Dr. Baird who’s up all night deciphering your handwriting while grading your essays. And it will be Joanne who reconfigures the order of the magazine when you forget to leave a blank page at the end to tape in the CD.

So, on behalf of the graduating class: thank you, teachers, for an unforgettable high-school experience. Were it not for your bizarre yellow pens, your irritating stapling requirements, or your Cookie Monster impersonations, Country Day wouldn’t be the community it is.