My Teacher Never Smiled

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My first-grade teacher never smiled. Any sign of emotion was clearly hidden behind her dark-rimmed glasses. I remember the suits she wore to school. No wispy, soft fabric or ruffles that invited a quick hug when there was an imminent boo-boo or tears. No smell of perfume or pretty jewelry to admire. Daily, she moved throughout the classroom methodically and intentionally. The room was orderly. I can still smell the pencil shavings from the morning's lineup at the old, rickety, hand-cranked sharpener that clanked, clattered and rattled with the grinding.  Certain it would fall right off the wall at any moment, we were all willing to risk it just to get that extra sharp point on the end of our pencils that signaled readiness for the next clean page in our Big Chief tablets.

 My teacher gave the signal for milk break each morning with such authority that I was uncertain whether there was an option to not drink it. I wouldn't say I liked milk, so as the rows were called forward to get their cartons, I prayed that strawberry or chocolate would be left to choke it down. 

The days seemed to move along without much, if any, laughter and a sense of deep urgency to accomplish the lessons. I loved schoolwork, including all the circling of pictures, tracing of letters, and writing I got to do. I felt smart - even if no one ever told me. That worked fine until I sat at our small reading table, where we gathered to read from Dick and Jane each day. I liked reading as long as I knew the words because I wanted my teacher to be proud of me. I remember that particular day when I did not know the word circus. I tried and tried, but it just would not come out correctly. I felt my neck getting hot and my palms sweating as I struggled to produce the correct word. Without batting an eye or any comments, she repeated the word for me, and you can bet I never forgot it again.

As I reflect on my first-grade experience, I realize that the classroom, while orderly, lacked a sense of warmth and celebration. It was a successful learning environment, but it didn't celebrate the individuality of each student. It was fair, but it wasn't fun. It was calm, but it lacked the emotional affirmation that first graders needed. There were no teachable moments when we did wrong, like when I played chase on the wrong side of the building. I feared for my life or at least the seat of my pants! It was stern do I tried to practice grace. It was sterile.

 This experience fueled my commitment to create a more welcoming and celebratory learning environment for my students, where they would feel valued, appreciated and loved.

I've thought about this experience over the years as I became a teacher - even a first-grade teacher. I did not find myself bitter, but I aspired to improve. I always wanted to appreciate the importance of rigor, grades, programs, and lessons. I understand the urgency my teacher must have felt to prepare us for the next step, Yet, I knew there had to be more than just the academics. I needed more than the teaching of lessons then, so my students also needed more. I didn't always do things perfectly, but I ensured they felt the hug from soft fabric and ruffles. I remembered perfume and eye contact that allowed them to see how I felt about things. I joined them in joking, laughing, and smiling. I tried to show grace when they played tag on the wrong side of the building or worse. Most of all, I wanted to love them to the point that they never had to worry about failing, even if they, too, didn't know the word circus.

The best teachers teach from the heart - not a book.

                                                      Unknown