This post was actually made after Another Book Recommendation. I just didn't want it to supercede The Well-Favored Man, by Elizabeth Willey. That's a good book.
Feeling a bit blue. Lonely, even. Which is odd because Judayl (my sister) called me this morning. It's been several months since we've spoken. She didn't know about my submitting Flames of Hatred / Pawns to another agent, nor about that agent referring me to Evil Editor, nor about the massive amount of critique I just got, or Critters, or Firestar, or the house, or anything.
Like always, when we do talk, we talked a long time. She was at work, so it wasn't so long as normal. I told her about my post, So Why Isn't it Funny. I told her how people from around the world have taken time to help me write better. She was glad about that. I said that is my job now. I don't get paid, but it's what I do. Judayl said I don't get paid - yet. Judayl is very insistent that I acknowledge the positive side of life regularly.
But, as I said, she was at work and couldn't talk so long as desire claimed. Maybe that's why I'm down. Talking to Judayl reminded me of - loneliness. In solitude, loneliness is a quiet hum. It's the white noise they pump into office space so employees aren't aware there are other people nearby. Loneliness in a crowd, however. There is only one thing I know which hurts worse - complete and utter rejection.
I lay down to take a nap. Sleep stayed away. Not interested in hanging out with the blues, I guess. I found myself remembering three teachers from my youth. Not sure what sparked the memories.
The first was Mrs. St. John. She was my third grade teacher. She accomplished something my previous teachers could not: she helped me believe in myself.
I like fun and I have always been able to see funny (I know you don't believe it, but it's true). That got me into trouble at least weekly in kindergarten, first grade and second grade. I got slapped (teachers slapped you in those days) more than everyone else put together. Why? Because I couldn't resist what was funny. Nobody gave straight lines better than a teacher. Had my glasses broke a couple of times.
Well, third grade began very much like the previous grades. I was in trouble all the time. Amazingly, I was still a "B" student. I don't think Mrs. St. John liked me. I know I wouldn't have. But that changed dramatically, and I think it had something to do with what happened when the class took a test.
Because (I know I'm not supposed to begin a sentence with 'because', but tough) I had been laughing and teasing, I was made to stand in the corner (I could do it in those days) while the class took the test. Then, while the class went out to recess, I was to take the test. Well, as far as I was concerned, that was bullsh*t. I hadn't done anything wrong. Not in my mind. So I refused.
I tore up the test sheet. Slap! New test sheet. I had no pencil. Slap! New pencil. Go sharpen it. I did. Right down to the eraser. Slap! New pencil. Teacher sharpened it. I broke the tip. Slap! Resharpened. I put it between my fingers and broke it. Slap! New pencil. More slaps. Just for the heck of it. Well, by now I realized I wasn't going to outlast her. So I took the test. I marked every answer wrong.
My mother was called in. More slaps. This time my mother shared in the distribution. While they discussed me before my face, I sat and glared at them both. I defied either of them to make me take that test for real. (I did take the test. Mother had amunition Mrs. St. John did not have. Mother had Dad.) I can still see Mrs. St. John's face looking at me while I glared.
The following week, while at recess, I saw Mrs. St. John walk away from the school grounds. She came back shortly before recess was over. She called me and had me go into the school with her. She handed me a tube of chapstick and showed me how I could put that on my lips, which were bleeding (I used to peel the broken skin off because the hanging pieces felt funny), and said if I did that, my lips would get better. She never slapped me again. In fact, she began tutoring me on math and english. When I moved on to fourth grade, she moved on, too, and became my fourth grade teacher. By the time I went to fifth grade I was a couple of years ahead of my classmates in math and english. I even walked to the school in the summertime (between third and fourth grades) to take daily lessons. I liked Mrs. St. John, and I never acted up in her class again.
Mrs. Kohner was different. She was my creative writing teacher when I was a Sophmore in high school. She told the class we could write anything we wanted, and even use profanity - providing the profanity made sense within the story. I was one of two Sophomores in the class. The rest were Juniors and Seniors. Quite intimidating, actually.
Mrs. Kohner would take assignments and then sit with students one-on-one to go over the work. I remember when it was my turn. As a Sophomore, I went last. She didn't actually have much to say about what I had written, or how I wrote. (I can't remember what it was about, but it was dull. The kind of thing a sophomore would think a teacher wanted to read.) Instead, she asked me a question which still rings in my head:
Is this really what you want to write about?
No.
Then why write about it?
I don't know.
What do you want to write about?
Magic. Unicorns. Dragons.
Then write me a story about magic, unicorns and dragons. Work hard, because I am not going to accept this as your assignment. You have to redo last week's assignment and still complete this week's. Do you understand?
Yes, ma'am.
I became very good friends with Mrs. Kohner. I confided things to her I never told to anyone else. She never judged me. She just encouraged me to write. Mrs. Kohner was my friend.
The last teacher was Mrs. Gab. She was my Bookkeeping teacher when I was a Senior in high school. Bookkeeping is nothing like accounting. Bookkeeping is simple and easy. By the end of the first quarter I had determined I could get a "B" without even trying. Since I had only taken the class as a filler class that is what I did. I didn't care. Mrs. Gab did.
Mrs. Gab was very concerned over how each and every one of her students performed. She wanted everyone to not only succeed, but to be their best. I posed a problem for her. When she brought me in at mid-term to discuss grades, she was genuinely distressed that I was only getting a "B".
What's wrong with a "B"?
Nothing. But you should be getting an "A". You could be my top student. All you have to do is turn in the book assignments. I know you know the answers, but you have to complete the assignments.
I don't need to be the top student.
When I said that, Mrs. Gab broke down and cried. I couldn't believe it. She was crying because I wasn't going to be her top student. Well, I hate to see anyone cry. Especially when they're clearly as big a fool as I am. So I promised I would turn in the assignments. Actually, I did more. I went home that night and did ALL of the book assignments to the end of the year. When I turned them in the next day I assured her they were all perfect. She was happy as a clam. (Are clams happy?)
The last portion of the year was spent doing what Mrs. Gab called, The Practice Set. We were given a business to bookkeep for. We had to track payroll, payments, receipts and a bunch of other stuff. We had to write out receipts and keep copies. And it all had to be kept - in order - in a special Practice Set Pouch. Work was at the student's own speed. Once the Practice Set was finished, the rest of the year became study hall.
Five of us competed for the lead: Mike, Bonita, Cathy, Larry and me. As we left the rest of the class behind, we realized that everyone who used the adding machines (there was no such thing as a calculator) would lose at least a day. So we resolved never to use them. Cathy caved first. She had some problem she thought would be solved by using an adding machine. I shook my head. Cathy was out of the race. Bonita was next, which surprised me, as I figured Bonita was my top competition. Not any more. With three weeks left in school Larry gave in. Now it was just Mike and me. No one who had used the adding machines was near to us. Even Bonita was three days behind. Then, with ten days left, Mike tapped my shoulder. I turned to see his sheepish grin. He was going to the adding machines. I warned him not to do it, but he wouldn't listen. I finished my Practice Set two days later and spent the last week reading books.
I still remember the day Mrs. Gab handed back the Practice Sets so we could see our grades. She was so happy she practically glowed. She made sure she had everyone's attention, and then she made this announcement.
I had 150 students take Bookkeeping this year in grades ten through twelve. There was one perfect score. That went to Bevie James.
We made eye contact. She was so proud of me I had to smile.
I have never forgotten Mrs. Gab. Or Mrs. Kohner. Or Mrs. St. John. I know I was just another student, and I have no doubt they did as much or more for others. But I always believed they loved me. I felt like I was important to them, and I wanted to do well to make them happy. I think I did. But what would they think of me now?
Can what's broken be fixed and made good again? I hope so.
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