Finding My Way

Ninth grade year was one that I did not look forward to.  No longer would I have the safety of "group" trips to the cafeteria or library.  In high school we had free lunch - and we were allowed to "hang out" with our friends during that time.  Normally I did not eat lunch at school, so that hour or so of independence was something that caused inner strife for me.  I did not have the luxury of having ample friends around.  I found Lisa and Patty - two girls who were "outcasts" from the class, and tried to cling to them as "hangout" lunch buddies.  Eventually I felt like an "outcast" from the "outcasts."  I had to find a way to keep myself focused.

Enter Mrs. Page.

My ninth grade English teacher, Mrs. Page, seemed to be an unlikely friend.  She was pretty hard on students in class, but she wanted things the way she wanted them.  I had her class just before my lunch period.  One day during first semester I approached her and asked if she would allow me to just remain in her classroom during lunch.  She had lunch at the same period - and left her classroom daily.  She agreed, and would lock me in the classroom - (the door opened from the inside and remained locked on the outside).  Each day I sat at the back of the room during lunch, and placed myself in a desk that could not be viewed through the windows of the door.  There I would either do my homework or sleep until 1:00 - the fifth period of the day.  When the bell rang, I would gather my things and go on to my Algebra 1 class.  That time allowed me to focus and study as I needed to.  I did not worry about having friends --- just used that time to "get the job done."  I was always thankful to Mrs. Page for understanding.

Ties That Bind

You hardly ever hear the positive stories from yesterday about race relations, though there are many out there to be shared.  I wonder why human nature trends toward the negative?  My mom, a former teacher, had a story to tell yesterday that left me speechless.  I vaguely remember the time - but the year was 1970-1971..the year for total desegregation...  Mom was moved from the local historically black school to teach at the "white" school across the little town.  Most if not all of her students were white.  She was also shifted from elementary to seventh grade (we all know how challenging middle school/junior high students can be.)  That was an extremely tough year for my mother.

Saturday, 4/7/2012 mama received a call from one of her former students from that middle school experience.  Some forty years later, this lady still found a way to reach out to her seventh grade teacher -  just to touch base and see how she is doing.  My mom stated that, over the years, the lady has always just "popped up" out of the blue just to speak to her on the phone - checking to see how mama is doing, and sharing her life updates as well.  It warms my heart to think about how, even within the raging storm of the process of desegregation, there was a quiet, uncelebrated bond formed between a black teacher and a white student that would last for generations.

Paying the Price

After a year of "fun" in the seventh grade, reality struck -- I had to make the greatest contribution toward my success.  Thankfully I do not believe that I ran into a teacher who tried to make it harder for me to be successful - at least not at this point.  So "buckle down" became my mantra.  I lost my beloved grandmother at the beginning of my seventh grade year.  At the beginning of the eighth grade I prayed to God and asked for three things.   1) I wanted a boyfriend who would respect my values.  I believe I used the phrase, "give me another love from which to draw since I lost my grandmother."  2)  I wanted to lose the extra weight that I had been carrying around all of my life; and 3) I wanted to be smart again.  It is strange that 37 years later I still remember the requests of a 13-year-old.  I met some teachers who left strong impressions on my life, including Ms. Tusai - one of my favorite English teachers.  She never knew just how much of an impact she had.  I remember the names of five of my 8th grade teachers (out of six?).  The rest are a blur.

Math that year was a terrible experience.  No matter how I tried, I could not grasp the concepts that this teacher was trying to communicate.  When I think of that teacher today, I see her sitting behind the desk more than anything...maybe that is why I could not grasp those concepts that year.  She made a statement to me at the end of the year that has puzzled me ever since.  It was something along the lines of, "You are a very bright young lady.  I never understood why you were in this class and not the top class."  In my mind I knew why, but I always hoped that the eighth grade  powers-that-be would see the mistake and move me to the "higher level."  It didn't happen that year.

Ninth grade year had a feel of its own.

First Friends

In the seventh grade I found friends.  What a lovely surprise that was....after five years of basically walking the road alone.  We were in the "top class," and I learned that I could have fun in the classroom.

Ours was a very creative bunch.  Whenever I reflected upon my own practice as a teacher/speech therapist, I tried to remember what things were like for me when I "was at that age."  Sometimes I could make the connection, sometimes I couldn't.  But I often say to others, "I chose not to teach at the middle school level because I remember what a terror I was in the seventh grade."  I was always concerned about reaping what I had sewn.

That year Myra, Paula and I were basically inseparable.  We were in the "top class" and having barrels of fun as a group.  Our creativity was so astute that we had descriptive names for each of our teachers:  "Mr. Rubber Nose," "Ms. Same Hairstyle," "Ms. Paddle."  The creativity didn't stop there.  Members of our class took turns writing "True Romance" stories to pass around for group consumption.  That year my grades again plummeted and I remember my mom wondering if her efforts to get me in school early caused me to have such minimal success in the seventh grade.  I did not have the heart to tell her, "Mom, I know I am not doing well, ---- but I have FRIENDS this year."

I realize now that again my son's choices and mine often parallel.  I wish I had shared this story with him when he was still in junior high and high school.  You see, the thing about my seventh grade year, I did not realize that though my friends Myra and Paula were probably having as much fun as I, they had the presence of mind to get their work done also.  Eighth grade year - I lost my friends as they remained in the "top class" and I was shuffled to a second highest class.

Why can't we be born with wisdom???

Man (or woman) in the Mirror

I asked my son (who is 6'4" or so) how many of his close male friends would be considered short.  He thought about it and said his friends are all tall.  I asked him does that make him biased or prejudiced?  Before he could answer I told him that this was a natural thing - we tend to be attracted to (or favor) people who are "like us."  It could be a matter of height, hair color, weight, gender, religion, etc.  The problem comes in when we judge people or disregard them because they are not "like us."  The solutions come into play when we examine ourselves and become aware of the natural biases that we have - then remain aware of that as we interact with others.  That discussion brought an "ah-hah" expression to his face.

We should each take a moment to become more aware of ourselves.

Music Soothes

I found music in the sixth grade.  Otherwise, for me, sixth grade is basically a blur.  We watched a film and the song that was sewn into my heart was, "I'm Just A Poor Wayfaring Stranger."
My grandfather passed away that year, and the lyrics soaked into my spirit as I remembered him:

I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger
I'm traveling through this world of woe
Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger
In that bright land to which I go
I'm going there to see my mother/father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wayfaring_Stranger_(song)

I do remember one lesson in music where the author was trying to guess what music in the year 2000 would sound like.  There were electronic sounds that really impressed me, but the sound was so mechanical that I could not imagine that he could be correct.  Our music teacher tried to teach us how to direct songs.  "Glad That I Live Am I" was the song that everyone attempted to direct.  Guess who was most successful?  I'm sure that the rest of the class has forgotten that lesson, but it stayed with me.  For the first time, I had experienced success in front of our whole class, and I felt that I had finally arrived.  Isn't it funny how music brings back memories and associations?  Too bad I had to return to the regular class.  But my grades must have been pretty good because I was placed in the "smart class" in the seventh grade.  That is the first year that I found true friends --- Myra and Paula.  Seventh grade is another story all by itself.

Sprinting Toward the Finish Line

My own child was the very best that I had to offer the school - and I trusted the process.  After all, I had already spent twelve years of my life educating and loving the children that came into my care.  I could not even begin to consider my child being found in a situation that did not magnify his strengths and shape his shortfalls.  Yesterday I spoke of my own fifth grade experiences.  Jaren's fifth grade was a little different.  Fifth grade for him matched him with a teacher who was unshaken by his uniqueness.  One afternoon I went by her classroom and she stated, "Jaren was really in rare form today.  I finally said to him, 'Jaren, since you know so much today and you don't feel that you need to pay attention, you may teach class.'  Jaren got up, went to the front of the room and said, 'Class dismissed.' "

This teacher, Ms. Rose, laughed as she recounted his actions.  Class resumed without incident.  Needless to say, that was one of Jaren's most successful years in school.  He made the highest score of *all fifth grade students* on the end of grade reading exam that year.  Ms. Rose was truly a Rose of a teacher, and I believed that Jaren was on his way toward the brightest educational experience.  I often imagine another teacher taking that situation and responding in a different manner......sending him to the principal for disrupting class.  If the second scenario had been the reality, both Jaren and his teacher would have lost.

Teachers can make a child, or they can break a child.  Our assignment in life is a powerful one.  Mark Wasicsko, (director of the National Network for the Study of Educator Dispositions (NNSED) )  states, "“We are all emotional learners.  What really good teachers know is that it is all about people. You can get magnificent learning to happen when you know that.”  I have observed throughout my educational experiences (and my son's) that teacher disposition does have an impact upon student success.

I choose to be on the construction crew - not the wrecking crew.