Earl is rapidly nearing the end of second grade.
Pardon me whilst I die of old age and wonder where the hell the past 7 years, 8 months, 8 days have gone.
I had a conference with her teacher yesterday. Nothing major – just an overly cautious mama. That happens when one struggles with reading and comprehension all through school until 10th grade when finally an eye doctor realizes, WAIT! It’s a muscle issue stemming from how I taught myself to read when I was barely 4! So here, have two years of vision therapy, and YAY now I love reading.
(Earl LOVES reading. That’s not the issue. It’s that she’s my child which means her brain goes 3 million miles a minute, and she hasn’t quite found a way to prioritize all that info floating around up there. What can I say? It’s an art? {shrug})
Anyway, as I left the conference, a happy little bounce in my step, I couldn’t help but think of how Earl’s second grade teacher reminds me so much of the outstanding teachers I had in elementary school. I, honestly, was blessed with amazing, incredible, inspiring teachers in those first seven years. They looked for my strengths and made them stronger. They looked for my weaknesses and encouraged them into strengths. And after that conference yesterday, I was elated that Earl had a teacher so much like those I still love to this day.
By sheer coincidence, when I got home, there was an online article from our hometown paper in my inbox from my mother. Seems they were celebrating my old principal’s birthday and honoring him and his outstanding career in education. I looked at the picture and nearly sobbed.
He wasn’t surrounded by the teachers of today, no. He was surrounded by my teachers. Those incredible strong women (and man) who played such a huge role in my formative years flanked him at the celebration. I immediately emailed the paper for a higher resolution, larger photo. They sent it to me this morning, and I squealed. Yes, I’m fangirling over my elementary school teachers. I am a sentimental geek, what can I say?
From left to right:
I had Mrs. May in 5th grade. She’s just come down from teaching 6th, and I had no idea what to expect from her. She called me out regularly on my laziness. We had to do a daily journal, and half of my entries read “Hi. Bye.” After about 2 weeks of this, she never chastised me, but she jotted a note in my journal one day: “I need more unless you’re telling me about a great shopping experience.” My lesson from her? Using your words can be therapeutic. It can see you through the bad times and help you remember the good times.
Mrs. Butler was my main 4th grade teacher. We had other teachers come in for social studies and science that year – I think she taught reading and English in their classes, maybe. I remember I was in her class when I got my first pair of glasses – little gold frames with tiny Smurfette’s on the earpieces. She fostered my love of math, introduced me to the “Witch Mountain” movies, and I will never forget the gentle, factual way she handled it when one of our classmates was diagnosed with epilepsy. She was no-nonsense, but patient with diversity, and stern with doubt. “You can; do it,” I remember her saying.
Mrs. Hilliard. Oh, my word, Jan Hilliard. I could never say enough. She was my kindergarten teacher, and I was in one of her early classes. I swear, that was, egad, 30 years ago and she hasn’t aged a day! When I had Mrs. Hilliard, the kindergarten was actually in a different building in town, and I remember the room was enormous. She did everything within her power to foster my love for reading, even through my struggles, which weren’t as apparent at that age. I remember stories told using a felt board and a bunch of island animals. I remember her honest delight as we all learned to count to 100 and mastered tying our shoes. She convinced me no matter how impatient I was to learn cursive, it would have to wait. I remember nap times and warm hugs and her always open arms and ears. I loved her dearly. I find myself looking for an email address for her frequently, convinced that if I could just sit down and have lunch with her now, these days, she could be a friend and such a great resource for helping me with Earl’s challenges. The last time I remember seeing her, though, was after I graduated high school. I stopped back by my old elementary school, as I did periodically to say hello. The kindergarten had since moved into a new addition to that building. I was nearly knocked over when she told me, “You really need to apply to Boston College. They have one of the best writing programs in the country, and you need to write.;” I was too chicken. I wish I’d have listened.
Mr. Ingram was our principal. He knew my dad (everyone in town, I think, knew my dad). He was always ruffling my hair, high fiving all the kids, rooting us on. Mr. Ingram was also quite the prankster. I remember one day during lunch, he dumped a cup of ice down the back of my shirt (he frequently gave me a harder time because, like I said, he knew my dad). I squealed and jumped up and around, laughing the whole time while Mrs. Hester, the lunch monitor, bellowed for everyone to “Get it quiet!” Even Mr. Ingram listened when she bellowed like that, cowering like a scolded student, a twinkle in his eye. It only made me love him more. Don’t get me wrong, he could flat out straighten up a wayward student, but we all knew he considered us like his own. (Happy birthday, Mr. Ingram! You always seemed a lot older to me than you apparently were when I was walking your hallowed halls!)
Mrs. Elkins is another I could go on all day about. I actually found her on Facebook and sent her a note just as Earl started first grade about how high she had set the bar (who knows if she got it). I had Cathy Elkins for first grade, when I remember her playing “Flight of the Bumblebee” for us on the record player. That was also the year three quarters of my class was out at the same time with chicken pox. I remember her catching me counting on my fingers, my hands sneakily hiding in my desk, during a math test. Finger counting was absolutely taboo at that time, and when she realized I had already finished the test, she asked me what I was doing. “Checking my work,” I whispered. That earned a note home to my mother about my perfectionism and how she saw that as one of my greatest challenges. Good call, Mrs. Elkins. Good call.
Third grade, though – that’s a year I remember with Mrs. Elkins. (See, she gets two paragraphs because I had her twice) That was a big year. I’ll never forget sitting two desks away from the TV watching Challenger take off, then explode. That’s also the first year I think I started seeing teachers as actual people. To this day, when I see pink and grey together, I think of her. I know she had a thing for Tom Selleck; I remember vividly her telling us that during reading time, the only reasons we were to disturb her were “if the building is on fire or Tom Selleck is at the door.” She was the first teacher who ever put my name on the board (gave me a demerit, of sorts). Most infamously, though, on a bad day while she was trying to teach us cursive, walking around the classroom and making sure our papers were turned just right, she stopped beside my desk, readjusted my paper for the umpteenth time that day, crossed her arms, and sighed. “It doesn’t matter to me which hand you pick, just pick one and stick with it,” she fussed softly. I’d been writing with my right hand for a while and it was tired, so I settled on my left. Years later, when her daughter heard that story, she went back in a huff. “MOM! You RUINED the only real ambidextrous person I’ve ever known!” To me, it’s always been a funny little story, though. Writing left handed has served me well, and it’s mighty handy (no pun intended) when I can throw someone off by doing something, like putt or bat, switch. The way I see it, Mrs. Elkins taught me to be unexpectedly unique.
(Hey, look! A break! Because I never had Ms. Alford, nor do I know who she is! Although if she’s standing there with that crew, I’m sure she’s damn good at whatever she does.)
Mrs. Yates was the science teacher that came in during fourth grade. She was the “cool” fourth grade teacher to have, and I was always jealous of her class. While Mrs. Butler was very English-oriented, Mrs. Yates was very Science-oriented, and I love science. They always did the cool stuff in that class. The little time I got to have her as a teacher though, I remember her as fall-out-of-your-chair funny and delightfully perky. She was a creative teacher, who found interesting ways to engage us with science. I really adored Mrs. Butler, but I will admit to always having an eensy-bit of bitterness I didn’t get Mrs. Yates.
Mr. Walker was another teacher I didn’t have, but I knew of him well. I had Mrs. Bain for sixth grade, but Mr. Walker also taught sixth grade, was the assistant-principal, and was the known disciplinarian of the school. When the paddle came out, he was the one usually wielding it. (Yes, kids, when you got in trouble at school back in the day, you got beat. With a paddle with holes in it. And most of the parents were totally cool with that.) He was feared and respected, but when I got to sixth grade and finally got to interact with him, he was a way cool guy (and a very good piano tuner on the side). He was strict, yes, but funny and exuberant. Despite the paddle, he was the “popular” sixth grade teacher, the one all the kids wanted. While I was sad when I didn’t get him at first, Kathy Bain was actually the far better fit for me personally, but that doesn’t lessen my respect for Mr. Walker. He was, as were all the teachers at North Lee, outstanding.
I can only hope and pray that Earl ends up with teachers who can even come close to those with which I was blessed. Her teacher this year is close. About as close as one can get, especially through the eyes of sentimentality. I just hope that, years down the road, Earl still appreciates her the way I still appreciate my elementary school teachers.
(And to any of the teachers I’ve written about here, on the off chance they may read this and even possibly remember me, I would LOVE to hear from you! Honestly, you all played such an integral role in shaping me and fostering my still-insatiable love for learning. I could never thank any of you enough.)
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