There's no feeling quite like walking alongside the river.

It's the last light in the valley, and the sound of rushing water drowned out all others. I walk the river's edge with my dog, Mosi, whose inability to hear over the waterfall makes him nervous. Despite his impressive size, he runs sheepishly at my feet. At first glance, we walk to fish, but actually we move at the urging of naturalists long since passed—of John Burroughs and of Loren Eiseley—and of my parents, Norman and Paula, who are still alive today but live far from this Kenya valley. Walk in the woods, their voices advise, along the banks of a river where, in the blue end of a day, you may find the rhythms that fascinate you. There, among the fish and the flowers and the forces that bind them, you might make peace with your worried mind.

I began to venture into the highlands of central Kenya in 2013 with the hope that its rivers might throw their _________ power upon me, smoothing my edges as they have, over time, polished the stones in their path. I've never been free of emotional stress, but my years of working as a photojournalist in some of Africa's most conflict-ridden environment left additional barbs in me. With time it became hard to distinguish between the conflicts that existed inside me and the ones that I witnessed through the lens. Gradually they became intertwined, and I felt an expanding sense of tension and discomfort inside me.

Fly-fishing seemed a cure of the pain of photographing people's suffering, as I'd done so often in recent years. I hadn't cast a fishing line since the age of 10 or so, when I used bait to fish the Atlantic waters that surrounded the places I lived at a child, first along the coast of New Jersey and later in Massachusetts. My mother's friend at that time taught me the basics. He was a large, athletic man who'd been in the U. S. Army Special Forces, an experience that left him with his own scars. At dusk by the river, his hand resting comfortably on the rod, he seemed at ease.

Between assignments I began to drive around. The slow-flowing river drifts through protected forests, where a network of paths, used by humans, elephants and lions, cuts through thick vegetation. I came to realize that the river had given me more than I'd asked—I regained the peace inside me, and it seemed that I'd gone back to my childhood when sand sharks and puffer fish made my heart beat with curiosity.

I was born into a family of educators. Growing up, I heard stories about my grandfather, a headmaster in Guyana. His wife was a teacher. My father and mother continued the tradition, teaching at the university and secondary school levels. At annual Guyanese reunions(聚会) in New York I would meet my parents' former students who would proudly introduce their kids and praise my parents for the influence they had on their lives.

As we celebrate National Teacher Appreciation Week, I am inspired by Charles Blow's article in The New York Times to publicly thank two teachers who have never failed me: my parents.

I seldom think of a period when my parents were not busy learning and teaching. When I was born in1991, my dad was taking a doctor's degree in plant science in North Dakota. After we moved to the Bronx, my mom started night classes working towards a master's degree in nutriology. While my mom studied, she also managed a full-time job and raised me.

As I watch their schooling experiences, I learn that receiving an education means much more than getting high grades. Instead,a true education has the meaning when its learners give it to those around them.

My parents both show me how to live as a good learner and teach me how to love. My parents-my educators for life-make it clear that a teacher's job goes far beyond the classroom. An influential teacher stays with his or her students forever, in mind or in person. It is as a result of learning from my first teachers that I promise to be a good teacher myself, and help young students think freely and develop their own ideas.

National Teacher Appreciation Week might come around once a year but the reality is that every single day we need to thank those who care more for others than they do for themselves. Who will you thank today?