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Teacher, Teacher

 

A couple of nights ago, I received a phone call from an old friend...a woman who's been a school teacher in the public school system for over 20 yrs. As soon as I heard the crack in Sue's voice, I knew something was wrong.

 

"I've had a terrible day," she said, "One of my former students killed himself, today. Thirteen years old. He got hold of his father's shotgun and blew his head off. Thirteen years old, Lana."


There is really nothing I can say about this tragedy that wouldn't be stating the obvious: it's horrible, it's sad, it's disturbing. I feel for this boy and for his loved ones. But I'm not here to write about him - I didn't even know him. His story, and how I found out about it, moved me to write about something that's been on my mind a lot, lately: the role teachers play in the lives of children.

 

I wonder if this boy had any idea that his tragic death would have such a profound effect on his former teacher? I wonder if he realized that someone thought about him, cared for him, and would mourn him in such a way? I wonder if he had any idea that, long after the school bell had rung - and even long after the school year had ended - his teacher would be thinking about him, wondering how he was doing, wishing him well?  Not every teacher does this, and even the ones who do, probably don't with every student. They're human beings, after all, not saints.

 

A good teacher, though, a great teacher, can have an incredible impact on the life of a student.  A few weeks ago, I was discussing this with my friend, Heidi (a teacher, herself.) I told Heidi about one of my favorite teachers, Ms. R - the 5th grade teacher who had the vision to introduce a room full of 9 and10 yr old "gifted' children to poetry not only on the page, but on vinyl. Ms. R started us out early in the school year by giving us rexograph copies of Edward Arlington Robinson's Richard Cory. We read the poem, and discussed it at length. We spent a whole session of Language Arts (what they called reading/English at the elementary school I attended) on this one poem. Ms. R didn't explain what the poem meant, but asked us to explain it to her, in our own words. There were no wrong answers - just different interpretations. (You may think this is a fairly straightforward poem to dedicate a whole afternoon to discussing: keep in mind that we were 9 and10 yrs old, this was our first foray, EVER, into reading poetry. It was an ambitious undertaking.) We loved it. The next day, Ms. R showed up with an old and very worn record album - her personal copy of Simon and Garfunkel's Sounds of Silence. She put the record on one of those big, portable record players that was in every classroom in the 70s, and played their version of Richard Cory, introducing us - a class full of 9 and 10 yr olds - to the idea that poetry didn't just live on the page, that poets could tell their stories in different ways, that music - even pop music - mattered.

 

It was a revelation. It changed everything for me. It is not an exaggeration to say that Ms. R was the first person to make me see that writing could carry weight, that it was a worthy pursuit.

 

This is just one example of how special a teacher she was. When I told Heidi about Ms. R -  how much she'd meant to me,  how I'd never forgotten that she once called my parents and gotten permission to take me with her to The Metropolitan Museum of Art on a Saturday, just because she wanted to, and how I wished I could thank her, all these years later, for all she'd she'd done, for all that her care and attention had meant to me - Heidi replied, "You've got to find her. Google her. Find her and tell her everything you're telling me."

 

And that's what I did. Hoping that Ms. R would somehow still be involved in education, even though she might well be at or past retirement age by now, I Googled her somewhat common name combined with "NYC public schools." Bingo. There she was....still involved with the public school system...now training young men and women how to integrate the arts into the classroom experience. How fitting. I sent Ms. R the following email, hoping against hope that it didn't sound corny or stupid, and figuring the worst that would happen would be getting no reply:

 

I'm writing in the hopes that you're the KR who taught at PS 321 in Brooklyn during the late 70s. If not, I'm sorry to bother you. If you are that KR, I'm glad to have found you, because I've always wanted to tell you what a difference you made in my life.

I don't expect you to remember me, but I was a 5th grade student in 1977, and you were one of my teachers. A great teacher. As a child, I took it for granted that every other child had a teacher who really cared and made an effort to keep things interesting, welcomed curiosity, and encouraged critical thinking. As an adult, I know better.  

A week ago, I heard Simon and Garfunkle's Richard Cory on the radio, and immediately thought about sitting in your classroom, reading E.A.R.'s poem, and listening to S&G's version of it. I asked one of my friends from childhood, who was also in your class, if he remembered you and the poetry you introduced us to.  William Carlos Williams. Percy Shelley. Vachel Lindsay. Langston Hughes. Robert Frost. Sure enough, his memories of that time were just as clear as mine, and just as fond. We talked about what a really special teacher you'd been, how lucky we'd been to have had the experience of being in your class. And more - I'll never forget that you once took me to the Met on your own time. On your day off. It was my first time going to the Met, and it changed my life. The Met became one of my favorite places in NYC, thanks to you. Thank you so much for that, and for so many things. The gifts you gave me 35 yrs ago are still precious to me.  

At any rate, I hope I've reached the right KR, because the KR who taught at PS 321 in 1977 really should know that the time and effort she put into working with a room full of ten year olds made a world of difference.


Corny? Maybe a little, but all true, so what the hell? I was thrilled, then, to receive this reply (note: names and specifics have been deleted for privacy) a  few hours later:

 

Dear Lana, You have indeed reached the right person…and I am typing with a big lump in my throat and a tear in my eye.  I have never, ever received a note/message/email like this!   

I have always loved teaching and the word “rewarding” doesn’t even begin to cover how I would describe your note, Lana.  I have very fond memories of teaching at PS  321…it was really an incredible school…I didn’t even mind being in the mini-school!  

I am presently working for (education-related agency) but the best part of my job is visiting schools and, because I really still love teaching, conducting workshops for teachers….I have one tomorrow…at the Met of course!   It is really my home away from home…I also volunteer in the Nolen Library at the Met around once or twice a month.  

But I would like to know more about you, Lana!  Please write back.  

Thank you so much for being thoughtful enough to write to me and share all of this.  It means more than you could possibly imagine!  

All the best and write back,  

KR 

To say that this made my day would be putting it mildly. It's immensely satisfying to be able to thank someone for such wonderful gifts 35 yrs after the fact. I didn't even realize, when I was 9 or 10, that there was anything I needed to thank this wonderful person for. That she so naturally and seemingly without effort gave us so much is part of what made her an outstanding teacher. As a 10 yr old, I didn't know how rare an opportunity I'd been granted. I'm so glad that, as a 45 yr old, I've been able to voice it and give thanks where thanks have been long overdue.

 

Teaching can be something of a thankless profession. Pathetic salaries, not much respect from the public,  overcrowded classrooms, difficult parents, problem children, supply shortages, budget cuts.....yet good people still choose teaching as a profession. A good teacher can make a huge difference. I'd urge anyone who has a memory of a special teacher to make the effort to thank them. I can tell you, first hand, how good it feels to successfully deliver that "thank you," and to find out that it doesn't fall on deaf ears. You may be surprised at how satisfying it can be to say "thanks."

 

And, to answer the inevitable question, yes - I've written back.

 

 

 

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Thank you for this post! As a

Thank you for this post! As a teacher, I often come home feeling defeated and questioning whether or not I am reaching the students I teach. It's a tough age- middle school and there are so many reasons why students hate themselves and therefore do not believe they CAN learn.

I regret that I did not think to contact my 5th grade teacher years ago and thank her for gifting me with her joy of teaching. She was in her early 60's when she taught me in the early 70's, but was full of fun and adventure and zeal for her job and her students.

Thanks again for reminding me why I do what I do.

Annette

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A Teacher's Reward

Loved your post and your taking the time to let your special teacher know how important she was and is.  I hope you inspired many to write a talented teacher.  Especially in the distant past, the pay was poor.  But most teachers taught for the sort of rewards you gave KR.  I know how much I appreciate the praise I still often receive for the gifts my father gave his student long ago.  He's been off the planet for decades, but I still get an inheritance from his service to his students when I meet up with those who knew him then. 

Your friend's phone call was heart breaking.  However, I realized you were a special person because she chose to call you to share her sorrow and seek comfort.  I liked how you realized that nothing you could say was adequate.  Yet, I am sure, nevertheless, that the contact meant a great deal to her.  Thanks for sharing this.