The Ones that Matter
It's been over thirty years since I sat in her classroom. The class most high schoolers dreaded the most - speech class - was my favorite and I was always eager to get to Mrs. Aavang's room. Even after so much time, I can still remember vividly performing "The Jaberwocky" (I can even recite some of it by heart.) I remember parliamentary procedure, how to spell 'Shakespeare', and that I once wrote over a dozen drafts of a business letter only to miss a point because I forgot to sign my name. I also remember a speech I gave as a radio broadcast from the Garden of Eden. I remember the day we all came into class and she had a pink paper on her desk. We asked her what it was for and she said, "I told you I'd tell you when I knew." It took us most of the class period, but we finally figured out it meant she was pregnant with a girl. Most of all, however, I remember how she made me feel. I knew I was good at giving speeches because she showed me I was. I knew I had a love for it as well because she let me have fun with it and to be myself in whatever form that took for me at sixteen years old. She made me feel successful and powerful and creative and smart. I wanted to diagram more sentences, learn more poetry, write more stories and give speeches as often as she'd allow it.
A week ago, my own fourth graders held their first "Sharing Day". While this was routine in my second grade class, it took extra hours of thinking and planning to adapt this familiar practice to fourth grade curriculum and students. We decided to share our "How-To" writings, and to make it more entertaining, we invited parents and grandparents as unsuspecting guinea pigs to actually perform the "how-to's" while each student read them. We didn't get nearly the same number of parents that a second grade show brings, but we welcomed those that did come and we applauded them for enduring several demonstrations on slime, paper mache, and board games. But somewhere in the middle of the presentations, when I was standing at the back of my classroom taking pictures and laughing with my students I had a flashback to my days in Mrs. Aavang's class. She once told me, "I used to just put an A on your score sheet, sit back and watch you go, knowing you'd be great." That's what I felt like watching my kids. No, they weren't all "great", but they were all brave and creative and successful in their own right. And I was beaming with pride on their behalf.
They say students may forget what you teach them, but they will never forget how you made them feel. I know this. I know it like I know I need air to breathe. Mrs. Aavang taught me that. Even after thirty years or more, she continues to be my teaching mentor. Her example will always remind me of what excellence in teaching is.
My counter, as Christmas break begins, is full of "World's Best Teacher" trinkets and "#1 teacher" mugs. I have cards written in kid penmanship that declare me "Teacher of the Year" or the "Best Teacher Ever." But I know better. I know that I still have a lot to learn. I also know that I have had a great teacher. One who will always be "World's Best Teacher" in my book.
A week ago, my own fourth graders held their first "Sharing Day". While this was routine in my second grade class, it took extra hours of thinking and planning to adapt this familiar practice to fourth grade curriculum and students. We decided to share our "How-To" writings, and to make it more entertaining, we invited parents and grandparents as unsuspecting guinea pigs to actually perform the "how-to's" while each student read them. We didn't get nearly the same number of parents that a second grade show brings, but we welcomed those that did come and we applauded them for enduring several demonstrations on slime, paper mache, and board games. But somewhere in the middle of the presentations, when I was standing at the back of my classroom taking pictures and laughing with my students I had a flashback to my days in Mrs. Aavang's class. She once told me, "I used to just put an A on your score sheet, sit back and watch you go, knowing you'd be great." That's what I felt like watching my kids. No, they weren't all "great", but they were all brave and creative and successful in their own right. And I was beaming with pride on their behalf.
They say students may forget what you teach them, but they will never forget how you made them feel. I know this. I know it like I know I need air to breathe. Mrs. Aavang taught me that. Even after thirty years or more, she continues to be my teaching mentor. Her example will always remind me of what excellence in teaching is.
My counter, as Christmas break begins, is full of "World's Best Teacher" trinkets and "#1 teacher" mugs. I have cards written in kid penmanship that declare me "Teacher of the Year" or the "Best Teacher Ever." But I know better. I know that I still have a lot to learn. I also know that I have had a great teacher. One who will always be "World's Best Teacher" in my book.
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