Back in the Day
My favorite Class
Their favorite teacher
Proud Indeed
Two weeks ago I got a phone call from a kid I had taught in 1965. I remember the boy and am amazed. Mostly I am amazed he remembered me and called when he saw my name on the net. What a decent thing to do. The thing about teaching is its not driving nails or cutting wood to fit. You can never know what or how you’re doing.
Then last week a letter arrived from a girl I had taught in 1968. I may have the letter bronzed. She said all the things that I had always wished some one would say.
I was teaching High School in those days.
The first three years of that experience were in a public and pretty rural High School. I had no idea what I was doing or how to do it. To make matters more complicated and difficult they had me teaching out of my discipline. I had a major in Education with a composite minor the college didn’t even know it offered. History, Political Science and Sociology. My student teaching was with the tenth grade. So of course I was teaching World Geography to Ninth graders who didn’t know whether they were afoot or on horseback but they sure as hell didn’t want to learn Geography from a guy who didn’t know it himself. I had pointed that out to the administration but they just said, “Oh keep a page ahead of them and it will be fine, and would I like to teach band and French too?” I might as well have, knowing little or nothing about French and nothing about band. The first year was a living breathing furnace of wrath. They almost destroyed me. I was so conscious of having to be in control every single minute that I turned around at a social party and almost shushed a couple of women who I thought were getting a little loud.
Somewhere along about Christmas holiday I decided that if it was going to be me or them it was going to be them. It pretty well was. I had no Idea of the crafty depths of discipline of which I was capable . Have you noticed how inventive men can be when poltting war and destruction. There are forged the most clever methods and devices that man is capable of devising. The kids didn’t know what hit them. You don’t know yourself till you get pushed to the wall. I think the “bad boy” of the class may still have a tic. The second year class was quiet and the third was heaven. But I will never forget that first year. Those guys taught me everything I ever had to know about dealing with and getting along with a class. From that time on it was like riding a bicycle. Once you get your balance it’s a piece of cake.
Then I transferred to a private High School that was the “Experimental and Laboratory School” for the College. We High School teachers had Professorial status and the use of the College facilities and were paid like peons. But these were the children of the professors. When I stood before one of those classes, now World History, American History and Humanities, and looked into their eyes… well as I think about it I almost shiver. Talk about shimmering intelligence looking back at and through you. It was almost eerie. When they wanted to they could get away with anything and it would be forty years later and true confessions on the High School web site before you knew about it. It’s just that what they wanted to get away with seemed good natured and innocuous but infinitely clever. You just had to smile. I have been smiling ever since. I do not remember in the six years I spent there ever having a problem student or a discipline problem. The nearest I ever came to it was one day looking at the class, quiet but sort of bubbling with energy and looking somewhat turned off, and I thought, what the heck am I doing teaching. These guys don’t want to be here and neither do I. I should have gone into plumbing. And in a spirit of deep sarcasm and in a sarcastic voice I spent about fifteen minutes saying stuff like, “You know I think its working with young people like you that has kept me young and vibrant and alive. Have I told you what wonderful young people I think your are? No? Well have I told you you are my favorite class? Huh. I wonder why? Well it’s just been one of the most marvelous experiences of my life dealing with you. I will remember you as long as I live. You are great. You shine. I mean you are the best students in the whole darn world. In all my long years of teaching I think that…” and on and on.
Some one in the back yelled,” save your pant cuffs, it’s too late for the shoes!” And we all laughed and I went on teaching “probably the over throw of the Babylonian Empire, which I think I illustrated with a miniature icon of a Babylonian Umpire, mask, chest protector and all, flying through the air (on the chalk board). And that was that. The next day I came into class and they were sitting there beaming at me. It was like a class of your closest friends who had come to pay homage to you and which was delighted to be there. I was dumbfounded. They hadn’t believed a word I had said but they were infinitely pleased. The rest of the year was magnificent. I thought about that a lot I tell you. I think what happened is that the best lies are firmly founded on a truth. And that flattery goes past every defense. I really had loved the darn kids, especially compared with what I had just come from, and all I was doing was exaggerating a truth. And they knew it. But boy did it change things. Since that time I have taken a few minutes somewhere in the second month of any school year and told every class that they are my favorites and flattered them for about ten minutes. I don’t do it at first. That would be cheating. but by the time I do like them I tell them so in exaggerated rolling phrases while telling them to look out for flattery and explaining that I would flatter them but they are far to intelligent and insightful to fall for that. I usually do it when we talk about Aaron Burr and his ability to do it with out anyone knowing what was going on. Then I do Lord Chesterfield and his advice to his son about flattering women “and they are yours”. Look out I say, because chesterfield also said “the trouble is most men are the same way.” Then the class sits there and looks absolutely delighted. And I guess so do I. A couple of years ago my son Joe, riding on a bus 700 miles away from me, sat next to a woman. They got talking and he said his dad taught. She said she remembered one of her teachers. “He used to tell them that they were his favorite class”. Yep, it was me.
So now, forty years later I hear from two more of them. Boy, back in the day they really were something. I am so flattered that they remembered me and bothered to get in touch after all these years. “Proud” and infinately gratified. I’m sure I am their favorite teacher. You learned well grasshopper(s).