"Mr Brown, I just wanted to,...um,...you've really made a difference for all of us. Here's a card we wanted you to have. You don't have to open it now. This was so much fun and our group wants to thank you. Even though you don't like Katy Perry! (I teased her mercilessly for 3 days about her confessed obsession.) Dang it, I feel stupid, (starts to get teary-eyed). I just wanted you to know how much you mean to our group,..(hugs me)"
Don't know why, but this has been the summer of notes and tears for me as a teacher. I've always tried to be a mentor, coach, comedian and motivator to my students, as I think too many teachers just don't care enough. Mind you, there are THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS who care exceedingly, agonize when they know kids are struggling with health or emotions, and dedicate their lives to making the lives of others richer, happier and fuller. It's just that too many don't.
Dr Sharon Seager was one of my history profs at Ball State back in about 1984. Perhaps the worst teacher in the world! Each day was filled with the spell-binding proposition of her walking into the classroom with her gaze thrust into the floor, as if a naked man she lusted for was laying there waiting for her. She'd take a cursory glance up at the class to make sure she wasn't alone (or more accurately, in hopes that she WAS!), sigh with disappointment, then she'd pull out an American History book that looked like the Yellow Pages of Greater New York City. And then,....breathlessly,...wantingly,....with a monotone that can never be duplicated by even the most perfect machine-generated operator tone at the welfare office,....she would read directly out of the book for 55 minutes! My bosoms still heave in sweaty, erotic passion as I recall her voice,.....NOT!
No, is the answer to your question, she didn't look up,....EVER!!!! In fact, I'm not even positive that she stopped to breathe. Perhaps she did, or legend has it that she may have had gills that made it unnecessary. Point is, the lady read from a book without pause, voice fluctuation, chalkboard usage, point stressing, or question-asking until a group of young adults in the prime of life, were stifled into a zombie-like catatonia. Praying, in-fact, FOR nuclear war to ensue at that very moment to bring an end to the suffering we all endured. No joke, when I cleared my throat one time to ask a question, she looked up, sighed heavily,.....and read the paragraph over again!!!
I reported her to Morton Rosenberg, dean of the department, who didn't believe me. After convincing him to check it out for himself, he sent a "grad ass" to class one day undercover. True to form, she didn't even know that somebody else was in class that day, even though there were only about 25 of us. After reporting back that the class had made them contemplate imaginative ways to commit suicide, Dr Rosenberg had a meeting with Ms Seager (I only assume she wasn't married. Simply not possible!) Next class, CHARTS,...HANDOUTS,...Q&A...and all the FALSE enthusiasm one could ever desire! I hope she's locked in prison now, being submitted to the torture of listening to audio-tape replays of herself teaching,....until she dies.
Thank God there were some brilliant and inspirational teachers mixed in there along the way. Fritz Mountford, Larry Boye and JoAnne Keesling are largely the reason I do what I do for a living. They instilled passion for music, laughter and dedication to the art in my soul. They taught me so much about the intricacies of performance, but even more about love of the craft that is entertainment.
Terry Nelson was another. My yearbook advisor and journalism teacher from Yorktown High School. She was filled with daily giggles and jokes that always put everybody around her in a good mood. She LOVED news, LOVED debate, LOVED controversy, and LOVED her students. Class with her was always an adventure of discovery, with her pushing you ever deeper into the journalistic jungle to discover more than you'd known the day before. Although my grammar and syntax have suffered from severe atrophy over the years, I still love to write. This blog, for better or worse, will always have a mental image of Terry Nelson standing over it offering thoughts on how it could be even better.
But back to my point in this entry,....finally! I've always had grateful students. Facebook messages, handwritten notes, hugs at concerts, notes from parents, occasional tears of gratitude, e-mails are so appreciated and often saved in a rainy day file I keep. But this summer has been different and more intense. Probably three dozen notes, and at least half a dozen kids clinging to me crying and thanking me. Why!? Is it the difficult times we live in? Is it coincidence? Is it the fact I've been in some new locales around the country? Is it the fact that music is stupidly being removed from curricula around the nation and kids sense the end of an era approaching? Is it the fact that I'm unashamed and unafraid to share the fact that I'm a Christian, even in public schools? Is it empathy from having 2 teenage daughters of my own? Am I learning more about teaching? I hope so, but I frankly don't know.
Whatever it is, I hope the flood increases. It makes me feel whole as a teacher. There are things about my job that I honestly detest. The nightly staring at music wondering "What the hell do I do now?", the 140-150 days spent in motels eating continental breakfasts that suck every frickin' morning, or the days and days and days spent away from my family. But teaching is still awesome. At its core, it's still about shaping lives, role modeling, and inspiring. Though some would disagree, those are all more important than the course material. Igniting a hunger to learn and making kids know you care about them,.....that's the point of it all.
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