This past weekend was high school graduation weekend for most of the schools in our area. At times like these, I sometimes hear folks waxing nostalgic about certain teachers who made an impact on them. I never had a chance to thank a couple of teachers who taught me extremely valuable lessons that served me well over the years, so here goes.
First, there was my fourth grade teacher. She introduced to me to an idea which has always stuck with me, and which has served me well in my many years as a college professor: Adults, and teachers in particular, can be wrong. Up until this time I had always assumed that adults were always right. They knew more than kids did because they had been around a lot longer and had already gone through school. Teachers in particular were always right because, well, they're teachers.
My fourth grade teacher proved this line of reasoning was dead wrong. Among other things, she insisted that we never say "The United States" but rather, "The United States of America" because there were other "United States'" in the world. She then informed us that "U.S.S.R." stood for "The United States of Soviet Russia". As a ten year old, I already knew this was false and shot my hand up in the air. My friend Kevin took a more direct route and simply blurted out "No it doesn't. It stands for the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics". I managed to join him in the last few syllables. Our fearless teacher was not to be taken so easily and dismissed us both with a wave of her hand and a "Well, it means that too, but mostly it means the United States of Soviet Russia". At first I was somewhat confused by the encounter, but eventually it all came together.
On another occasion, she informed us that the giraffe was referred to as "the animal that God forgot" because, according to her, it had no natural defenses against predators. One of my classmates was quick to point out that giraffes can run. She retorted that it was a very clumsy and ineffective sort of run and to illustrate, slouched over and gave an impression of what can be best described as a drunken Quasimodo in search of more hooch. We had a couple sets of encyclopedias in our home, and at the end of the day I looked up giraffe and discovered that they are indeed quite fast and possess a kick of sufficient force to crack a lion's skull.
Another valuable lesson came from some horse-play on a winter's morning. A bunch of us boys had gotten wet throwing snowballs at each other in the school yard. Our teacher made those of us who lived close by go home and change into something dry. As punishment, we had to stay after school. Our task involved doing a series of problems in our math book that were a couple of sections ahead of where we were in class. I read the requisite material, handed in the answers, and in short order received a classic "Hrmmph". A week or so later, we started that section and to my delight, I already knew it. The lesson learned? I could pick up a textbook and teach myself things. I didn't need the teacher to explain it first. (As a side note, I was in the habit of reading the afore-mentioned encyclopedias when I would go home for lunch. It was fun. There were lots of pictures of different places, maps, and other cool stuff. For some reason though, I hadn't quite made the link between that and a textbook.)
My fourth grade teacher was a little weird and not always correct, but she wasn't purposely mean. In contrast, my eighth grade English teacher taught me that some people can be cruel, vindictive, and will waste your time for fun. I found the class to be altogether dreadful. As an example, she once teamed up with a Social Studies teacher and came up with a series of topics for each of us to write a term paper (mine was on the effect of the Monroe Doctrine on our entrance into World Ward One). We were warned that as we were the "honors group" (as we were called in those days), this would not be some little five page report. She expected at least 20 pages with appropriate footnotes, citations, references, etc. Now I have nothing against this assignment per se. What I had (and still have) a problem with is the following: The day after she collected our work, she addressed the class, pointed to the thick stack of papers on her desk and said in effect "This will be an awful lot of work for me to read and I'm sure it'll be pretty lousy, so why don't we just put them in the circular file and be done with them". With that, she gave a push and the papers dropped into the wastebasket. The room was completely silent, although if gaping mouths and pie-eyes could make a sound, the room would have been thunderous.
And there you have it: Two extraordinary teachers who taught me very valuable lessons. The lessons may not have been on the syllabus, but they were valuable none the less. It's easy to learn stuff from really great teachers, but sometimes you can learn very useful stuff from the not so great ones too.
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Oh my, that eight grade teacher sounds like a real horror show.
Going from grades one through eight I didn't meet many characters like that. All of them were pretty decent people.
It was high school and college where I learned to read the personalities and habits of the teachers and professors.
In one class in college got up the first day and said "I don't know why they're having me teach this class. If you ask me the professor who wrote the syllabus is an idiot and you all have A's this term regardless if you show up, turn in the work or otherwise."
That was interesting. The prof who designed the course left the university in disgrace a couple terms later.
Then there were the ones with whom I piled on the bullshit if I could.
Reminds me of my department head when I irreverently questioned him on an unexpected low grade for a project report that I thought was pretty good. He explained his grading methodology thusly, "I stand at the top of my stairs at home and toss the pile of reports down the stairs. The reports that reach the bottom get an A, those further up the stairs get progressively lower grades. Yours was a pretty light report and it didn't make it that far down the stairs." In addition to learning that life isn't always fair and that your not always judged on merit, the importance of inertia was indelibly imprinted on my mind.
What is wrong with the bad teacher sweeping 20 page papers into the wastebasket, in terms taught at the college of education that I attend at night, is that a good teacher must achieve a balance of instruction, assessment, and management. Your teacher refused to do the assessment.
I attended Oyster River High School in Durham, New Hampshire. Class of '69.
I'd like to mention Elinore Milliken who taught me science. She stressed the need for accuracy, attention to detail and the importance of repeatability and prediction when discovering the answers to a mystery. Yes, the answers. There is seldom a single slick and easy description and you've got to do your homework. She also reinforced an idea I already had a notion of, that learning is fun. And that can be an important motivation and an influence for posing the next question.
Stephen Carlton Guptill taught history and was the director of the drama club. He won over the attention of many a sophomore in World History class when he described the one-time fate of the civilization in the Euphrates. "And then Alex and the boys rode elephants over the mountains and ruined the whole shebang."
In American History as a junior I first came to equate a "statesman" with a "common man." Mr. Guptill would appear in class with dirty fingernails. He would take out a pen knife and, while tidying up, tell us about weeding his vegetable garden, particularly the peas, on his way out to his car. Then he would use most of a class describing something like, oh, the conditions inside that cramped and unventilated room in Philadelphia where some farmers and printers and landowners and bankers and some others hashed out the Constitution. And I felt like I was there, then, quietly listening.
Thanks, Mrs. Milliken. Thanks, Mr. Guptill. You changed my life then and I can trace much more recent changes right back to you. Thanks.
Not to offend you, but what kind of person doesn't learn that adults can be wrong until the fourth grade ? Or, for that matter, that you can teach yourself things through textbooks?
On second thought, maybe you are the normal one. I'm just having one of those "wow, other people don't live in my world" moments.
As an 8 or 9 year old, I assumed that teachers were always correct because A) They were there to teach us things and why would they be hired if they didn't know the stuff, and B) They had never been wrong up until that point. Admittedly, I was a trusting little tyke. Mind you, I understood that adults could be wrong, but those were the stupid ones. They didn't really count. As far as self-teaching is concerned, I loved reading the two sets of encyclopedias that we had plus all manner of "sciencey" material, but textbooks tended to be less attractive and reserved for a more formal approach. Maybe it had something to do with those problem sets or the dull, black-and-white, usually picture-less presentation.
my teacher inspired mo to become interested in chemistry.
I remember my teacher telling me about console modding in a quite corner was on of the first things that inpired me to become interested in computers
I remember my teacher telling me about console modding in a quite corner was on of the first things that inpired me to become interested in computers. what a great teacher he was