Some people retire from education. Mindy Youngquist is retiring from teaching.

There’s a difference.

Teaching isn’t just a job to her. It’s been a way of being—for 33 consecutive years, all spent at Monmouth-Roseville High School, the very building where she once roamed the halls as a student, Class of 1988.

“I came back home after Augustana,” she recalls, “and the math position opened up the same year. It just… lined up.”

From the fall of 1992 to May 2025, she’s taught everything from general math to pre-calculus, adapting to changing standards, technology, and expectations while holding steady to one core belief: every student is a math person—they just might not know it yet.

That message has become her quiet crusade.

“It’s not that kids can’t do math,” Mindy says. “It’s that they’ve heard too many adults say they couldn’t. So they start to believe it’s okay to give up.”

She knows better. And she’s seen better—from students who doubted themselves in September but found their stride by spring, to moments when the light bulb clicks on after months of slow effort. “That’s real,” she says. “That spark, when they finally get it—it never gets old.”

Over the years, she’s witnessed a dramatic shift in how math is taught and understood. She’s gone from chalkboards and overhead projectors to smart tech and digital platforms. But technology hasn’t made her teaching less personal. If anything, it’s created more opportunities for connection.

“I don’t just stand and lecture anymore,” she says. “I move. I interact. I can flex with the class in real time.”

It’s not just the students who’ve grown under her guidance. The school itself has evolved—from consolidation years to new programs, changing demographics, and a shifting cultural landscape.

People often ask her if today’s students are different.

“No,” she says. “Teenagers are teenagers. What’s changed is the world around them. The societal pressures. The expectations. The distractions. That’s what makes education more complicated—not the kids themselves.”

What hasn’t changed is the camaraderie of her math department, a team she calls “phenomenal,” and the shared sense of purpose that kept her rooted. “It’s been a close-knit, collaborative group. I’ll miss that part deeply.”

She’ll also miss the moment between problem and solution—the instant where understanding dawns and confidence begins to form.

But she won’t be gone completely.

Mindy plans to stay involved with the Monmouth-Roseville Hall of Achievement, a community-driven celebration of alumni who return to speak in classrooms and inspire the next generation. As co-chair of the program, she helps coordinate those homecoming-week visits that bring full-circle stories back to the very desks where they began.

“It’s a reminder to our students,” she says, “‘I sat right where you are. And here’s where I went from there.’”

It’s the kind of mentorship that shaped Mindy’s own journey—and the kind she’s passed forward, year after year.

She’s now taught the sons and daughters of her former students, a phenomenon that still surprises her. “It doesn’t seem possible,” she laughs. “But it’s happening. And it’s beautiful.”

As retirement nears, she’s not chasing accolades or looking back with regret. She’s grateful—for the place, for the people, and for the rare kind of clarity that comes from doing the work you were called to do.

“I didn’t realize how lucky I was,” she says, “until someone pointed it out. Not everyone gets to spend their life doing something that feels exactly right.”

Mindy Youngquist did.

And thousands of students are better for it.