Scout
So last night, I met Older Son's teachers at back-to-school night. All very nice this year. But . . . his English teacher? Not only is he lucky to be in this woman's class . . . but she is the type of teacher you would be blessed to get once in a lifetime. Yeah. That good.
First, aside from her clear enthusiasm for teaching, she actually has already assessed all the kids in the class for their learning styles. Do they learn best by hearing? Seeing? Touching? What? As an aside . . . I've blogged before that I only learned to use the coffeemaker a year ago. Yup. One year ago. Prior to that, I would drive to McDonald's, buy six jumbo coffees, and reheat them in the microwave as necessary. READING how to run the coffeemaker would be pointless for me. No maps or diagrams or steb-by-step instructions for me, in life (odd, since I am a writer). I have to HEAR it (near-perfect recall for anything I hear once), and then I have to DO it once or twice. As a further aside . . . I can HEAR it, but then will STILL call Significant Other to ask again. Because I have to DO it. At least once. Which is why I get lost. All the time. If I go someplace new, in general Oldest Daughter or Significant Other must be home to Mapquest me and tell me what to do and where I am. Yet I read physics and mathematical texts for "fun" and light reading. (Reading about Gauss right now.) And I've written 25+ books. So I'm not totally dumb. Just can't run a coffeemaker without instructional training. So, that little digression is to say I was very impressed that this woman gets to know each child individually and embraces that, and then teaches them how to learn on their plane of knowledge and skills.
Which brings me to teachers in general. I have blogged before about Mrs. Ruthless. The REAL Mrs. Ruthless from High School Bites. How she seemed to thrive on humiliating students. Burned out, unkind, condescending. Even with the wisdom and distance of hindsight and adulthood, she was THAT bad and worse. And it, in some sense, stayed with me for a long, long time. Because being in her class meant being BULLIED day after day for an ENTIRE year, and I am only gratified that she surely has retired by now and is no longer interacting with middle school students on a regular basis. And after her class, I hated math, and it was only when I started reading about numbers theory that I learned math was beautiful. It was elegant. Magical, even.
The polar opposite of Mrs. Ruthless was the English teacher who introduced me to To Kill a Mockingbird. Symbolism . . . [nodding to SpyScribbler] and just the powerful story and the way in which this teacher made it come alive cemented a lifelong love of reading that had been started by my parents, and I can honestly say that hers was the class I decided, for sure, I wanted to be a writer. The gift this woman gave me is hard to put into words. I wanted to write. More, I wanted to be Scout. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, and all the lessons he's taught me ("A day without larceny is like a day without sunshine.") but Scout's dad was someone so different from my own experience. He was wise in a near Biblical sense, and decent and honorable. My dad was streetsmart--and then some. My dad was polically astute. But Scout's dad was sort of like my English teacher. Wise enough to think carefully before speaking. An air of humanity and compassion about him. I got lost in that book. And I guess, in some ways, I found myself in that class.
Many, many teachers are excellent. But once in a while, you get one that has the ability to affect your life, to open windows and doors in your mind that hopefully never shut again. I think my son has that chance this year. And it may be, because he actually prefers mathematics, that it's his math teacher that lights up his mind (she was a great, funny teacher last night, too). And that's okay. But it warms my heart to know there are committed educators out there.
So do you have a teacher that opened up the world of books and writing to you?
Peace,
E
First, aside from her clear enthusiasm for teaching, she actually has already assessed all the kids in the class for their learning styles. Do they learn best by hearing? Seeing? Touching? What? As an aside . . . I've blogged before that I only learned to use the coffeemaker a year ago. Yup. One year ago. Prior to that, I would drive to McDonald's, buy six jumbo coffees, and reheat them in the microwave as necessary. READING how to run the coffeemaker would be pointless for me. No maps or diagrams or steb-by-step instructions for me, in life (odd, since I am a writer). I have to HEAR it (near-perfect recall for anything I hear once), and then I have to DO it once or twice. As a further aside . . . I can HEAR it, but then will STILL call Significant Other to ask again. Because I have to DO it. At least once. Which is why I get lost. All the time. If I go someplace new, in general Oldest Daughter or Significant Other must be home to Mapquest me and tell me what to do and where I am. Yet I read physics and mathematical texts for "fun" and light reading. (Reading about Gauss right now.) And I've written 25+ books. So I'm not totally dumb. Just can't run a coffeemaker without instructional training. So, that little digression is to say I was very impressed that this woman gets to know each child individually and embraces that, and then teaches them how to learn on their plane of knowledge and skills.
Which brings me to teachers in general. I have blogged before about Mrs. Ruthless. The REAL Mrs. Ruthless from High School Bites. How she seemed to thrive on humiliating students. Burned out, unkind, condescending. Even with the wisdom and distance of hindsight and adulthood, she was THAT bad and worse. And it, in some sense, stayed with me for a long, long time. Because being in her class meant being BULLIED day after day for an ENTIRE year, and I am only gratified that she surely has retired by now and is no longer interacting with middle school students on a regular basis. And after her class, I hated math, and it was only when I started reading about numbers theory that I learned math was beautiful. It was elegant. Magical, even.
The polar opposite of Mrs. Ruthless was the English teacher who introduced me to To Kill a Mockingbird. Symbolism . . . [nodding to SpyScribbler] and just the powerful story and the way in which this teacher made it come alive cemented a lifelong love of reading that had been started by my parents, and I can honestly say that hers was the class I decided, for sure, I wanted to be a writer. The gift this woman gave me is hard to put into words. I wanted to write. More, I wanted to be Scout. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, and all the lessons he's taught me ("A day without larceny is like a day without sunshine.") but Scout's dad was someone so different from my own experience. He was wise in a near Biblical sense, and decent and honorable. My dad was streetsmart--and then some. My dad was polically astute. But Scout's dad was sort of like my English teacher. Wise enough to think carefully before speaking. An air of humanity and compassion about him. I got lost in that book. And I guess, in some ways, I found myself in that class.
Many, many teachers are excellent. But once in a while, you get one that has the ability to affect your life, to open windows and doors in your mind that hopefully never shut again. I think my son has that chance this year. And it may be, because he actually prefers mathematics, that it's his math teacher that lights up his mind (she was a great, funny teacher last night, too). And that's okay. But it warms my heart to know there are committed educators out there.
So do you have a teacher that opened up the world of books and writing to you?
Peace,
E
Labels: English teachers, To Kill a Mockingbird
posted by Erica Orloff at 5:36 AM
11 Comments:
How exciting for your child. I can only imagine how happy you must be. :)
I love TKAM. And Scout. When Harper Lee was asked why she never wrote another book, she replied, "I said everything I had to say."
That's what Oprah said anyway. ;)
Hi Heather:
I wonder if one of these days I will have said everything there is to say. :-)
And yes, I am really happy for my son. My others lucked out this year, too.
E
Gosh, I could go on and on about teachers and teaching, but I'll stick with your question (which is a long enough answer!).
Translating art song and studying the poetry of it unlocked a love of words in me, but I did that on my own because I was obsessed with the form. I know I spent a whole summer listening to Gretchen am Spinnrade, over and over for hours a day, just dying at how each word and each note were perfectly united. I loved how music and words played off each other, how music could change the inflection of the words or strengthen them, how words gave each note a particular nuance. I did have a German lit professor who was fantastic, and one opera professor whose assignment inspired me to eat and sleep Faust for weeks on end.
Writing truly seduced me, chased after me. It was sort of in the back of my mind, and a little contest I saw inspired me to write a story. And then things just happened. And one day, I realized I was a writer. But all along, I found books (and later blogs, LOL) to train myself in the craft with the same methodical, thorough foundation I try to give my students.
Maybe an English teacher could have unlocked it before, but I like how it happened. I see everything in relation to something else, and learning about words and writing through musician's spectacles has been a joy to me.
Hi Spy:
That's a really fascinating story . . . I am very much a creature of music . . . and can get lost for hours in Beethoven's Ninth . . . and words and lyrics, and how they work together. But I can honestly say that came later. I.e., I wasn't as into music as a teen . . . and am VERY into it now.
So you learned of music through words. We're opposites! :-)
Have you listened to Mozart's Requiem? Or Faure's Requiem? The first makes me cry with the sheer pain it manages to convey, and the second is so peacefully beautifully, it makes me ache. (I only mention those, because they have the same effect on me as the Ninth, where the composer gave me no choice but to utterly and completely experience his inner world.)
I think I came out of the womb loving books. One of my earliest memories is sitting around my mother with my brothers and sisters (there were 5 of us) while she read to us.
I had some good teachers, but I none as stand-out fabulous as your son's. I was reading at age four, taught by my older sister. I taught my younger brother. :)
My mother and grandparents played more of a roll in turning me into a bibliophile than anyone else. I was hooked before I began kindergarten.
Hi Spy:
The Mozart piece--yes! The other, no, so now I will have to go find it. :-)
And yes, the 9th literally makes me cry. Did you ever see the movie about Beethoven's Beloved letters? Immortal Beloved is the name, I think. Anyway, the scene of the 9th, showing him in the lake under the stars . . . THAT'S how I picture it.
And I can't really DESCRIBE the 9th. It's an experience.
E
edie:
What a wonderful, warm way to learn to read!
E
Heather:
My parents totally encouraged reading . . . and had a lot of "tricks" up their sleeve--bedtime is 7:00 but if you READ it's 8:00. And my father geave me David Copperfield in 4th grade--and I look at it NOW and see what a challenege it is. And he said something like, "This is a very hard book--but you're ready for it." Like it was an honor. I wasn't encouraged to read Nancy Drew--but instead unabridged Sherlock Holmes. I read Tale of Two Cities at 9 or 10. So, that kind of thing, and I was hooked!
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