TL;DR I had awesome educators & wanted to share my paper & my memories of them. As old as I am I have three very clear memories of teachers that have shaped my life. Each one of these instructors is so different I cannot even imagine them in the same room. They impacted my life in different ways and helped shape who I am and why I want to teach. My memories of private Catholic School are fuzzy. I was there from first to third grade. I remember my saddle shoes were cheaper, dirtier and more worn than my classmates. My peers also had a Mom and a Dad at home. When the end of the day came they would be whisked away in fancy cars to horse back riding lessons, ballet or soccer. My Mom picked me up in her green Gremlin and we would go back to her work where I would wait a couple hours for her to finish her shift. The end of my second grade year the school, in order to raise money for a new library, decided to have an end of year pizza and ice cream party. To participate each student had to pay a “donation”. The donation was not in my single-Mom’s budget. My teacher paid my donation out of her own salary so I would not be excluded from my peers. I wish I remembered my teacher’s name. I’m ashamed I don’t. That act of kindness has stayed with me all these years. Mr. Lacoste was by far the gruffest, grumpiest taskmaster I have ever met. I called him Mr. Holocaust (because that’s what mature teenagers do). Every second of my sophomore high school history class dragged on forever. I dreaded every graded pop quiz he would slide across to me with his nicotine stained fingers marked in glaring red Sharpie with nothing higher than a “C” and some snarky comment like “Apply yourself” or my favorite “Wake UP!” When we finally got to the Renaissance I had all but given up hope on making it out alive. I knew Lacoste hated me, was out to get me, possibly had a mob hit out on me. My solution was to sulk and roll my eyes. Then something weird happened. He started to bring in beautiful color plates of Renaissance art. I was enthralled. I could not get enough. I read everything he assigned. I started studying things that weren’t even assigned. I was turning into a nerd, a teenage girl’s worst nightmare. Then of course Holocaust had to ruin my new found passion with a pop quiz. I not only filled out my pop quiz with my usual sulkiness and eye rolling I threw in a few bold “harrumphs!” The next day Holocaust strolled to my desk, got down on one knee and handed me a quiz that had an “A+” at the top. He leaned in and with the worst smoker’s breath possible said, “This is what I have been waiting for. You’re far too smart to make Cs”. It was totally worth the carton of second hand smoke I ingested that day. I started applying myself in all my classes. It just took one grumpy teacher to believe in me to spark my passion for life long learning. I ended up being an Art History major. My freshman year of college I wrote Mr. Lacoste a three-page letter thanking him for all he did for me. It took hours. A month later I got a card in the mail with two sentences. “I just kicked your butt in the right direction. You decided to do something about it.” It reeked of Marlboros. I didn’t care. My freshman year of college I took a survey Western Civilization class. My professor loved his subject. Archie Smith was an amazing storyteller. I felt as if I was going to a literature reading three times a week. Every class I would furiously write notes. By the time the mid-term came around and it was time to study I had a dorm room full of friends studying my notes and asking me questions. Because Archie Smith taught history as if it was an amazing story I did not need to study. I would ace every test. On weekends I would come home to Mom, and much to her displeasure and for the first time in my life, I would beat her at Jeopardy in every single subject that had to do with history or art. “Smart Ass”, she would yell and I being the gracious winner I am would do the Macarena and yell “In your face, Mommy”. My laundry service and homemade meals really dropped off after that. I ran into Archie Smith a few years later at an Art Festival in Austin, Texas of all places. He had retired from teaching and started making dulcimers. They were beautiful. He put as much passion into each instrument that he did teaching. I bought one on the spot and had him sign the back. “To my most talkative student ever. Keep kicking ass! All my best, Archie”
Posted on: Tue, 09 Jul 2013 17:14:04 +0000
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