What Makes a Good Teacher?

In an industry with such a mixed-bag of colorful personalities, one would have to wonder... "What REALLY Makes a Good Teacher?"

What Makes a Good Teacher?

　

        There's a whole gumbo pot full of ingredients that makes a good teacher in my book. A teacher, for one, is someone who cares about their students educational and academic well being. A good teacher is someone that holds order in the classroom, creating an enviornment for all of his/her students to learn and grow. A good teacher is truly knowledgable on the subjects that they teach and offers constructive (not discouraging) critism. A good teacher treats all of their students fairly and has patience (a virtue that many people don't have) with slower ones.

My First Year

         I remember when my mother brought me to school for the first time to register me into kindergarten. The thought of being away from her for several hours a day frightened me. I wanted to sit home with her and watch "The Price Is Right" and "The Young and the Restless" (I actually told her that when she was registering me). Two weeks later was my first day of kindergarten, September ?, 1981, my mother took me to school for the first time in my life. When she left me there and went home, I started screaming and crying. I didn't know none of the other kids in the classroom and because I didn't go to headstart and just simply wasn't use to being away from my homely surroundings. Ms. Watts (the kindergarten teacher) kept telling me that I would see my mother again, but I wasn't trying to hear that, I was completely unconsolable. They called my mother from the office and she talked to me and tried to calm me down, but as soon as I got off the phone with her and went back to the class, I started back up again. Soon it was lunchtime, I was still screaming and crying and even tried to run out of the lunchroom, but Ms. Watts caught me before I ran out the door and carried me back to the lunch table. I was kicking and trying to pull away from her but couldn't (I can't remember if I hit of kicked Ms. Watts, or any of the faculty, it's been too many years ago). I felt like I was trapped behind enemy lines. At this point the entire lunchroom was in complete silence, a rarity for a grammer school cafeteria, as all eyes were on the loudest voice in the room, mine.

         I have an older sister that attended that school (the now defunct Elihu Yale Elementary on Chicago's south side) that was in eighth grade. They eventually called her down to come get me and I sat with her for the rest of the day. I wanted to talk to her but couldn't because she was doing her class assignment and so was the rest of the class. She gave me a paper and pencil so I could draw and all was good in the jungle... til' I got home and momma straightened me out with her strap and from the next day on I was fine.

        As time went on, Ms. Watts began to see potential in me. She was impressed that I could spell and write my name and knew my phone number and address by heart and haven't even been to headstart or been through any educational programs. And I loved to draw, that was my favorite pasttime and she would encourage me. I soon made the honor roll and didn't even really know what an honor roll was, but I knew it had to be good, so I was happy. Ms. Watts also had a teacher's aide who would be in the classroom sometimes. She had a tough love side to her and sometimes we'd get our hands spanked with the ruler (remember when the teachers use to tape five and six rulers together), but these were the days before DCFS really, really started inferring with how teachers disciplined their students. We'd do all type of fun activities together as a class and despite little kiddie rifts here and there (I remember once this girl named Yolonda stole my cookie off my lunch tray and started bragging "I got a cookie", "I got a cookie") we were still very young at this time and no one held grudges as kids are usually quick to forgive and forget. Everyone got along with each other as well, and we all adored Ms. Watts. When I graduated from kindergarten, she invited me to come back and see her. I wish I did, but I guess I just simply never really got the chance as time went on, but everytime I'd see her in the hallways I'd always speak. She was nuturing and encouraging, and became almost like a second mother as she prepared us for our long school career. She was a sweet old lady.

         I attended Yale Elementary for three years. Then two months into third grade I transferred away. It was a little sad because I had to say goodbye to all my classmate friends that I was growing up with as the Yale kindergarten "class of 81" continually dwindled. I wonder whatever happened to Ms. Watts. She was already an old lady then (around early sixties) so she probably have past on now. If she is still alive, I'm sure she's long-retired by now and probably too old to be interested in something as modern as Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

　

Most Memorable Teachers

        After kindergarten, I've had experienced all type of teachers, but none of them compared to Ms. Watts. In first grade, there was Ms. Baldwin who seemed to always wear pants and brown suit jackets (thinking back, she looked like she might've been a lesbian, but I was too young to know what a lesbian at that time). She was a little harsh and I really wasn't too fond of her, I don't think none of the other children were either for that matter. She was a kinda short (around 5 "3', 5 "4'), thin, culry-haired, white-trashy, dyky looking lady and she looked like she was a heavy drinker. Like most workplaces, teachers usually make friends with their fellow co-workers. She was best friends with this other white-trashy male teacher (his name left my memory years ago because I was never in his class) but he was pretty mean and scary, especially to a room full of six year olds. He was one of those male teachers the women teachers would send the students to to get properly disciplined. I never will forget how he came in the class and was going to spank this one girl named Caletha and started intimidating her and she ran out the room, then about two minutes later he came after her. The biggest impression she had on me was how she taught the students to hold their pencils. Instead of using our index fingers and thumbs, she would re-train all her students to use all five fingers. It took years and years to randomly outgrow this wrongly-taught discipline as I was questioned by practically everyone that would see me writing as to how could I write and draw like that, but yet and still they would critique my handwriting and said that I write real neat for a boy. Today, I really don't pay attention to how I hold my pencil or pen, as long as I'm able to write ledgably. I was so happy when I left her class.

        In second grade, I had Mrs. Moore who had the mop-top, cereal bowl, shoulder-length hair-doo that people were wearing in the early-mid eighties. By that point, I was getting older and began to start encountering bullies and getting into fights. She would be biased toward the one that loses, and asked to see their parents while the winner got off with a lighter punishment. Overall she was okay, I guess, when she wanted to be.

        The following year I was in third grade. I had this tall (around 6 "5'), strick, dark glasses wearing, no nonsense creep of a teacher named Mr. Egle, who also use to give out harsh punishments and intimidate the class. I remember their was this husky, creepy kid that stayed down the street from me named Alan, who I really didn't like (and vice versa), that Mr. Egle would use as a messenger to communicate bad messages and parent conference letters to my momma when our phone was off, just to make sure that she received them. Alan didn't mind being used by him, he just wanted to aggrevate me and get on Mr. Egle's good side. But luckily I transferred to another school two months into the school year.

         In sixth grade there was this scary, suburbanite teacher named Mrs. Jeske, that the kids just ran over. They liked the fact that they could do whatever they wanted to do, but no one likes a pushover. She was like an absentee landlord for the fact that she had one of the most untamed classes in the school. Then there was Ms. Cheatham, whom I had for fifth and seventh grade. Ms. Cheatham was a tough love teacher that didn't take noooo s***, and all the kids respected and liked her. The bad ones respected her and she looked out for the weaker ones. She'd make you stand for half of the day at your desk and write lines and not let you participate in any of the activities going on in the class (recess, parties, etc.). Most teachers usually have favorites and lil' teacher's pets, but she didn't show favoritism when it was time to issue out punishments. And if things got too rough, she'd call in Mr. Davis (the disciplinary assistant prinicipal) with his paddle. I liked Ms. Cheatham. She was probably my second favorite after Ms. Watts. She'd takes us on field trips and everything. When I was in seventh grade, one Saturday in late May (naturally it wasn't a public school outing), Ms. Cheatham and another seventh grade teacher named Ms. Frazier and some of the students from both classes met up at the show, something that the average teacher wouldn't dare do on their off day. It was like a school outing, but not. There was no social media at this time (Spring 1990), so the only time we talked to each other was over the phone and when we saw each other at school, so it was a chance for all of us to hang with each other, break off into our little groups and have fun. Naturally the teacher's coached us on how to act and warned us that just because it's not an official school outing to still behave and not to act a fool and embarass them or the rest of the group.

Once a Man, Twice a Child

        I never will forget my high school freshmen algebra teacher (Mr. Miguest) who was a big, middle-aged kid himself, who'd signify and talk s**t to the students, and I was one of his main targets because algebra wasn't exactly a subject that I excelled in and he'd front me off in front of the whole class. I wasn't about to be staged off in front of the entire class so I'd talk crap back to him. He'd used profanity, talked about your clothes, nothing was off limits. And to show you how reputations follow you, there was a rumor running rapidly throughout the student body that he supposedly got some girl pregnant from the school that he transferred from. Sometimes he'd put me (among other students) out, sometimes I'd leave willingly. Since it was the last period of the day, he'd never give the students in-school suspension or any type of punishments. He treated us all like adults, addressing everyone by Mr. and Mrs. or sir or ma'am. One time I scored a 5% on an Algebra test and he replied that he could've brought a monkey in here and he could've scored higher than what I scored. When winter came, I had one of those old school down coats that had a hole in it and was leaking feathers. He asked me "What's wrong with your coat Mr. Lucas... you got a dead chicken in your pocket?" I was a freshmen from 1991-92. At that time the "Used" clothing brand (designers clothes with rugged hole patches) was at the peak of it's popularity. One time he passing back papers and I got a low score and just balled it up because I didn't want to keep a bad paper. He got mad and smacked me on the back (assuming he sprung his hand a bit) he said "Ahhh". The class laughed as he replied "I almost broke my hand on that expensive "Used" suit!" and sense it was the only Used brand suit that I had (which stood out from the rest of my wardrobe) he'd always comment on it, inspiring the kids to do the same. When I didn't wear it, he'd ask "Where's your Used Suit today, Mr. Lucas" "When you gon' wear that Used suit again?" Eventually one day he asked me not to come back to his class. And I said "Fine, it's impossible for me to learn in a class with a teacher that laughs at me in front of the class anyway" and left.

        A couple of weeks later (at the end of the third marketing period) I brought my mother up to the school, he recommended that she transfers me out of his class saying that "He (me) has an attitiude, I (him) have an attitude and it'll be better for him to find another instructor". We tried talking wth a few different teachers, but by the school year (as a whole) being 3/4's the way over it was too late for me to transfer to another teacher's class. But this African algebra teacher name Mr. Jeanty invited me to come to the math office during first period (before my school day began at 2nd period) for tutoring. About a week later (I guess after having a change of heart), Mr. Miguest invited me to come back to class, only to more of the same. Three weeks before that school year ended, I knew that I wasn't going to pass his class and just said f*** it with the intention of never returning to his class. Two weeks later when I heard he was collecting books, I came in the class in the middle of the period, put my book on his desk without saying a single word to him and walked right back out to everyone's shock and amusement.

        After my freshmen year, I'd see him in the hallway. For a while I wouldn't say anything to him, but eventually I began to start speaking back to him. He seemed okay as a person (maybe someone to have a drink and a cigarette with), but there was noooo way that I would ever want him back for a teacher again. In my opinoin, he dosen't need to be a teacher... he lacked the patience and maturity.

       

College Life

        My three semesters of college I met some pretty interesting personalities. Despite college being a more recent experience, I don't remeber those people as vividly as the grammer and high school instructors simply because I was an adult dealing with other adult problems (especially looking for a trying to hold a job) but in college you're pretty much on your own as the professor gives you a syllabis to follow.

        A word to the wise... make sure you're checking in with them to make sure that you are passing because some of them won't always come to you and let you know whether you're in danger of failing or not, which I feel is kinda mean because every student has the right to know how they're doing academically. You'll come to class, participate, then get your report card and see a big red juicy "F". You'll go to the professor and he starts calling off different assignments or days that you missed, which'll leave you wondering "They knew I was failing, why didn't they have the decency let me know where I stand? I thought I was gonna get a B, C at the lowest". A lot of times your college professor can have plenty of resources, but won't be quick to offer them to you if they feel like you're a slacker or an underachiever.

       

        I never went back to visit any of my old teachers and haven't seen any of them in many, many years. From time to time, especially as I reflect while writing this article, I wonder whatever happened to all my old teachers. The ones I adored, the ones I hated, and the ones not mentioned. I'm sure a lot of them have relocated, retired, some probably've passed on even. And some of them are probably right where they were when I met them. And I wonder if Mr. Miguest is still teaching at all. After I graduated in 95, I ran into someone two years later who was a senior at the school I went to (Simeon Vocational School) who also knew all about him (and his infamous incident at the other school) and she said that he was no longer teaching at Simeon. For anyone that may be interested in looking for any former teachers, or just curious about whatever happened to any of them, the best thing to do is to get on Facebook, LinkedIn, or one is the many social networking sites. Another great place would probably be at www.classmates.com.

　

　

                                     Til my next publishing...

                     DAYDREAM, BABY!　

　

Author's Note

Thanx 4 Reading!

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[mariakessler2020]

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