The Reach of a Teach

I like a teacher who gives you something to take home to think about besides homework. ~Lily Tomlin as "Edith Ann"

I had a hard time falling asleep the other night. This is unusual for me these days, but it was kind of nice. I used to do my best thinking before I fell asleep. These days, I guess I get by without doing much thinking.

Pregnancy is a nice excuse for being more scatter-brained than usual.

I laid there for awhile, thinking of things from my childhood. I started trying to remember all the teachers I'd had. I can only remember all of them through 6th grade. After that, when we began having multiple teachers and classrooms, I couldn't remember all of them. But, it took only the littlest things to help me remember some of the teachers woven through 13 years of schooling.

For example, I remember Mr. Pink, who one day donned a fake cape and "flew" around the room. He was usually so serious, so it really caught us by surprise. And, probably freaked us out a little. Had it not been for that, I don't think I'd remember.

There was Ms. Roche, my 6th grade teacher. She was energetic, young and fun. She wrote with her left hand and one day told me, while I was helping her with a project, that I was really good at cutting a straight line with scissors. Amazing how a good word can stay with you for 21 years.

I remember Mrs. Chan, who was the shortest teacher I think I ever had. She was Chinese but had such a solid American accent and she smiled a lot.

Stereotype much, Jen?

Mrs. Keyes was a bus driver. Because, really, how could you forget a bus driver named Mrs. Keyes?

Mrs. Calvert accused me of lying. She said I didn't complete a paper that I absolutely had. I was devastated. I even went to the principal to try and resolve it. I was mostly crippled by the accusation that I lied. Days later, she put on a sheepish grin as she waggled her finger for me to come over and then showed me the paper she had found.

In my memories, she was wearing a red business suit. Devil red.

My paper had fallen under some files in her cabinet. Situation resolved, but the pain never forgotten. She also read "I'll Love You Forever" to our class at the end of the school year, which forever tainted that book for me. Imagine a demon reading that story to you and you tell me if it leaves you with warm fuzzies.

Anyhow, the thought of a mom sneaking into her grown son's room to rock him in the middle of the night AND HE NEVER WAKES UP is just plan creepy no matter who reads the story to you. And the mom is near death by the end. What kind of children's bedtime story is that?!

I once had a substitute in 6th grade. I can't remember his name, but I remember him because after a girl accidentally passed gas, he told the class it was God's gift to be able to pass gas. And he was serious, too. I think.

Mr. Boone was my favorite princiPAL. I had him from 1st through half of 3rd grade. Before my dad was transferred to Virginia, on my last day of school, I stood in the school office. Mr. Boone knelt in front of me, place his hands on my shoulders, looked steadily into my eyes and told me to be a good girl. All of this as his eyes teared up. Something about his tenderness stayed with me all these years and I've longed to track him down and thank him. When I was much older, my dad told me that an angry ex-soldier threatened to hurt our family and that the strangers who were suddenly driving Scott and me to school everyday were actually armed to protect us. We had to move suddenly because of the threat and Mr. Boone was one of those watching out for our safety. So, now I see why Mr. Boone had been so intentional in his last remarks to me. Or maybe he was just that loving. Either way, I'll never forget those tender blue eyes filled with tears.

Then there was Mr. Born. Ninth grade biology. I did not retain a single lesson about biology, but we did make sandals out of yucca plants that year. We would trek out to a little stream way behind the school and beat those yucca leaves with rocks. Then, we'd sit out in a field and weave them into sandals.

Did I mention this was in Colorado?

We were very in touch with Mother Nature and yucca plants that year. But, I am proud to say we did not actually roll and/or smoke any yucca plants. Maybe that was saved for an upper level class. I am thankful to say I did not stick around another year to find out. We moved to Texas that summer, where I actually did learn some biology. Not enough to convince me to stay in Bio Medical Science my first year of college, but enough to help me pass the TAAS test so I could get to college and learn that a business degree was more suitable for the mind that wasted a year of high school making yucca plant sandals.

Incidentally, Mr. Born also built an enormous floor-to-ceiling bird enclosure in our classroom the year I was there. I believe it took up at least a quarter of the room. He stocked it with finch and quail, among many other breeds. I was curious to see if Mr. Born still had a job there so I checked the school website and, indeed, he is still there. I guess nothing ensures your job like building a gigantic aviary in the middle of a classroom. It's not as if you can pack that up neatly into a little cardboard box on your way out the door. I am amazed he even held his job through the bird flu epidemic.

Again, COLORADO...

Again, a stereotype.

Anyway, the point is, a lot of times what makes a teacher memorable is what they teach their kids outside the books. Sometimes I cut something out and find myself thinking of Ms. Roche and wishing I could remember her married name. Mr. Boone taught me that getting on a kid's eye level and telling them they are special will stay deeply tucked within their heart. They will even remember what clothes you were wearing and what your glasses looked like. Mr. Born gave me the gift of being able to fashion trendy footwear if I'm ever stranded in a desert. Too bad he didn't teach me that at 20% dehydration, a person dies. And, Mrs. Chan and I turned out to have a lot in common in the end, except for the Chinese part.

Finally, I don't know if she wears Prada, but I've witnessed firsthand that the devil loves books and she could still be teaching AP English somewhere. But not where I went to high school.

It would've taken a lot of yucca smoking to write all that if I knew she were in an hour's reach of me.