Essays: The People I Remember The Most

A little essay about teachers. I hope you enjoy it.

The People I Remember The Most

 

Beyond my family, for whom I constantly pray, I seem to often recall my teachers. They were irritating people when I was first introduced to them. They all said the same thing incessantly. “You can do so much more if you applied yourself.” I would think how could I apply myself more when I do not want to do what I am doing? They never relented. My parents never relented. I went back to school dutifully and religiously out of obedience.

 

At first, I did not understand this process called “school.” They gave me things. Told me I had to learn them. Told me it was testable. Told me these things would assist me later in life. To this day I recall seeing Dick, Jane, and Spot running. Run, run, run. Mrs. Gruber, my surrogate grandmother, taught my ignorance of learning more than fractions, basic history, and reading. I discovered I could learn. I discovered I could learn without much effort. This was actually bad for me as it gave me difficulties later. But, my teachers were ever patient and persistent.

 

Through the efforts of fine men and mostly women, I learned I had an affinity for learning. Yet, they would apologize to me for pushing the class along to meet me and push me to be more than I was. Ironic. My teachers saw in me, the hapless little boy, something that sparked. Spending most of my time looking out the windows of the classroom, longing for the green grass of the playgrounds, I continued to pass everything without trying. It was when I began to be graded on my participation and attention that it was brought to my attention I could still fail. Not just fail a test, a subject, a grade, but in life. They gently pushed and guided me to focus. Years later, I realized I was ADD/ADHD before it was cool to call it that. In reality, I was bored and my teachers knew that.

 

It was suggested to my parents by my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Latin, that I be promoted to a higher grade than where I was. My parents, having no experience with such, declined to have me placed in an advanced program or to skip seventh grade entirely. Mrs. Latin acquiesced to my parents but did not let up on me. She fed my intelligence and challenged my nature.

 

Mrs. Spencer and Mrs. Hacker developed my sense of and love for language, specifically the nuances of the English language. They showed me how sentences are structured and configured. They showed me roots and origins of words and how to use the dictionary for the real meaning of the word rather than the accepted meaning. They never fixed my run on sentences, which I mastered under the tutelage of Mrs. Pulaski. They learned if they gave me a vocabulary list I would convert it into one long sentence. I do not recall them ever handing one back asking me to rework the work. I think they appreciated my mental challenge given and taken.

 

To all of my math teachers, I must apologize. I never seemed to “get it.” I was the one who sat in the back of the class struggling the most. I barely passed all they gave me, yet I was the one that invariably asked difficult questions like: What would be the energy output necessary to propel 190,000MT to the speed of light? How does radiation work? Why doesn’t anyone take another look at EMF for alternate forms of use other than RF communications? Yeah, I was a geek. But, a geek with words. It was not until later in life that I figured out how to view things in 3D inside my head that I began to understand the nature and quality of mathematics. Math makes sense now and I spend time in hobby study of math and physics. Eventually, I will get back to chemistry.

 

Among my math teachers, Mrs. Newton (ironic that… math, Newton and a lover of calculus) was the first math teacher where I noticed she loved math. I was amazed at this epiphany. She not only loved math, she loved teaching it. She loved the arguments by the front 5 until they “got it.” I had never seen that before in a teacher. I am sure it was there, but I did not notice it until 10^th grade. A lot of things began to fall into place around my fifteenth year on Earth.

 

The two Mrs. W's. One was blue-haired and a strict grandmother-teacher. The other was a strict, spitfire of a woman nearing retirement that did not “cotton” to students doing anything other than their very best. She demanded it. We called her “Sugarbear.”

 

The first, Mrs. Williams, was my fifth grade teacher. She did not accept my staring out windows and passing everything. She was hard on me, very difficult, nearly failed me, and pushed me to excellence in learning. At my age, she is more than likely resting with her ancestors. She was an older woman when I knew her. Her difficult nature stays with me. Her lessons learned by me were not primary school education; although, I did learn those well. Her “life lessons” for me were hard work and diligence on top of talent pays more dividends than talent alone. Accepting less than your best is the slippery quick road to a life of failure. That’s a lot for a 10 year old to grasp. It is not surprising that it took twenty years for it to sink in.

 

The second, Mrs. Warren, the ever-lovable Sugarbear. She was anything but a soft, kind-hearted fluff toy or a breakfast cereal spokesperson. She was a perfectionist with the highest standards of quality and acceptable work. While under her tutelage, I writhed in mental anguish. She challenged me in chemistry, physics, mathematics, and in what was acceptable work output. At the time, I thought she was just mean. No. She was a perfectionist visionary who saw in her students all of the possibility of the world… If only they would reach out for it and take it. She demanded respect and decorum. I remember with dread the stories of her outside her class, yard stick in hand, swatting young boys for not having their shirts tucked in or for not conducting themselves as gentlemen should. Then, I had to pass through her gauntlet for my college prep courses. Oh what nightmares would she give me? That is until she was my teacher. I discovered another teacher who really cared about the students and the subjects she taught. It was more than just the transfer of information. She pursued understanding of the subject by her students. And, invariably, she would get it. I do not know how many doctors and post graduate students she ended up producing or how many leaders in their fields of endeavor she produced. I do know she created in each of her students the inability to accept halfway. She made them to see there was more and that they should and could attain it.

 

The two Fitzgeralds. Of all of my teachers from primary/elementary and secondary/high schools, the two that had perhaps the most influence on the rest of my life were the two Fitzgeralds, Clyde and Judith. We called him CW if we were brave, but more often than not they were Mr. Fitz and Mrs. Fitz.

 

Both were known as being “cool” teachers and yet very demanding. Of the two, I met Mr. Fitz first. He taught Western Civilization. This was “his” subject. He loved it and it showed. It communicated in how he taught it. In open discussion and syllabus format, he challenged the intellect of his students. It was under his tutelage that I first discovered a love for history. He made history not words on a page but alive and vibrant. These were people with all the things that happen to people. It just happened to them awhile back and others had written about their lives, experiences, and the effects of their lives on the future. I took every class he taught until they kicked me out of school with a diploma in my hand and told me to go to college.

Mrs. Fitz loved her subject too. She was a one of a kind woman. She enjoyed teaching and took the greatest challenge a teacher can take. She taught the really bright ones; the ones that questioned everything. She did not accept “light” work. She fed the insatiable intellects of her students. The pace and challenge she maintained in her classes kept these overly bright, over achievers from being bored. And, she challenged everyone. Oddly enough, she started me in analysis of poetry and writing. I still recall, comically so, the first poem she gave me to analyze. I had no clue. It was a Robert Frost poem. When I read the poem and gave my analysis, she did not accept it. She asked the class what the clouds represented, the pages flipping with the breeze as he sat underneath a tree. Chagrined and put on the spot, I knew I didn’t “get it” as my fellow students did. That is when I began to look at poetry differently and began to enjoy the words as a perspective of the writer making commentary to those things around them. She was a constant encourager and even offered to edit a project that I hoped to finish “soon.” That was 27 years ago, as of this writing. I never finished that project.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Fitz have since retired from teaching public school. Their children are no doubt productive members in society. I could not imagine anything less. It was a few years back that I thought on Mr. and Mrs. Fitz and a project half-hearted accomplished. I recall being queried by Mr. Fitz, “So, which one of them did you like?” My answer was lame. I had sped read my way through “Profiles in Courage.” I gave Mr. Fitz a lame answer. He left it at that. That lame answer came back to me and I went out to find a copy of Profiles to reread it for Mr. Fitz. I had finished my second read and was in the middle of my lit paper on it when I discovered Mr. Fitz had passed away. It was as if he had said one more prayer for his students that they would accomplish all the things he had given them and that they might learn from the experience. I did. It is one of my great regrets in my life thus far that I did not thank him for his efforts. I have since discovered that Mrs. Fitz sold their house on the peninsula and has retired comfortably, albeitly, without the love of her life.

 

I have learned a lot from my teachers in my youth. Their rewards are oft unnoticed or require so much time invested as to be seen in the day to day struggle of teaching to a body of faces that mostly do not want to be taught. But, more than other faces and names that I recall as time passes; it is the teachers of my formative years that I recall the most. My love of learning, of English, of History and Anthropology, of the pursuit of knowledge, and the application thereof has come from my teachers in my past. I have applied their “you will use this later in life” speech to many of the younger generations that I have had the privilege to lead to show them my teachers were correct. Calculating vectors for a precision measurement laboratory made me recall my math teachers and wishing I had paid more attention to their insistence that I learn this “stuff.”

 

I have since applied those base lessons learned to practice the Lincoln method of instruction. If there is no school or you have no time, find a book and become an expert on that material. I have applied myself to learning, not just for a degree and a pat on the back, but for life. I have learned more outside the class than in. But, without that time under the tutelage of many great teachers, I would have found myself learning nothing more than getting up, going to work, watch TV, pray for the weekend, to get up Monday and do it all over again. I have learned much from the people I remember the most. Since the 1990s in the USA, it has been chic to call them mentors. How few know Mentor was a Greek teacher way back when; entrusted with the instruction of a king’s son who would one day be king. And, that is the gift to a teacher. It is certain that the teachers of Washington, Addams, Jefferson, Jackson, Lincoln, Roosevelt, and Reagan had no idea that they were training leaders that would effect the future as it rolled into history.

 

I salute those brave persistent few that would become teachers. You cannot see the future you effect from your classroom full of youthful faces. Do realize, like me, there will be those that will lament they never said thank you. Do realize, out of your classrooms come those that will impact the near future as it rolls into someone else’s history. Thank you.

 

 

Author's Note

Just read and feedback.

Reviews

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

Some great memories. i remember many of my teachers.. i also think teaching is one of the most underpaid and acknowledged jobs.. so many teachers in my life helped me in in all ways.. teachers put their lives on the lines as it stands now..



I salute those brave persistent few that would become teachers. You cannot see the future you effect from your classroom full of youthful faces. Do realize, like me, there will be those that will lament they never said thank you. Do realize, out of your classrooms come those that will impact the near future as it rolls into someone else�s history. Thank you.

A great read and wonderful writing.

Chloe
xoxo

[Barbara Walker]

This is very well written. You express ways they affected you very well. I think you received many character building gifts from these teachers. I'm a bit envious. Either I didn't have such excellent teachers or was too thick to see and hear any messages! Great essay!
Barbara

[Daytonight]

Thank you so much for sharing these memories with us.

[Chris]

Lessons learned... and life as we thereafter live it.

Chris

[Emily B]

wow

[Donna Lorenz]

Really enthusiastic teachers make a impact on their classes. I wish they could all be so on fire. This was a very good read. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.

[Christina May Shanaberg]

Incredible!

At age 8, I became a step-up student in Columbus OH; a program about which Gary Coleman, later, made a movie. In the elementary grades, starting at grade 3 for me, we entered into the one room school house environment; us, the chosen few. In junior high, now called middle school, we were separated farther from the general student population by sending us half days to college for the subjects of our special abilities and the other half, we engaged in excellerated learning, including the Evelyn Woods speed reading course. That started at age 12 and by age 14, I toured the state to play music for elementary students to interest them in music and speak to them concerning my particular instrument; the saxophone in that band. I, however, play 22 musical instruments and sing. My college subjects were advanced mathematics and instrumental music. The summer of my 14th year, I practiced with and marched parades with the Ohio State marching band. Throughout history, including Einstein, music and mathematics have a connection; ie. brain function. At 15, graduating at 17, in high school we were left to persue independent studies. That is when learning came alive for me, as well; I was learning what I wished to learn. By age 27, I received the first "Most Outstanding Member of a Government Body Achievement Award from the Ohio Public Accounting Society," while being the youngest and first woman in the state to be incharge of a taxing district. Lurking, always, was something that all the teachers and I have taken for granted and ignored; writing. I journalled my life and the lives of everyone around me. I wrote short stories that were based on real events and made-up. I wrote poems, which achieved my first awards at ages 8 and 10. I am, now, here with you all and understanding that I should have been here, all along. When you are young, an easy paycheck as a State Field Tax Auditor sounds great, but now I realize that I have and will record every moment; low and behold, my passion has always been writing. If you can't tell, I loved this write and will retain it in my library! I can relate!!

[Dezaraye]

Thank you for sending this one along. It's very heartfelt and touching.

I was very blessed in my schooling to have the most incredible teachers. There are a handful of them that truly changed me and the way that I think. Reading this has made me want to sit down and write them each a very lengthy thank you. Teachers truly do touch lives and I hope that I will be half the teacher that some of mine were.

[TL Boehm]

Incredible testament to the undervalued. Some of my best and worst memories center around teachers. You were eloquent in this piece and you tugged at my heart.

[Robert Luna]

Memories some time haunting and beautiful in a single flowing motion coexisting in harmony with one another. This was a fun read and a great insight to the writers beliefs and thoughts of were life had some of its turning points.


Great Job!!!