To the teachers I know … and I know a ton of them (whether they have a job or not – right, Beth?) … actually, my friend Betsy is a guidance counselor starting a new job this week … so I will include her in this, too:
To all the educators I know – my dear sister Jean, my dear friend Beth, to Betsy, to my friend Janine …
School is beginning! This week for some of you, next week for others … but best of luck over the school year to everyone! You’re doing great work, really the most important work there is.
And because I never get tired of posting it, here is my favorite story about a teacher. The impact that a good teacher can have on a child’s life cannot be measured. I know being a teacher is hard, but look at what this one teacher did. Look at what she did!!
Happy back to school, everyone.
An Ode to a very special teacher
I have a friend who grew up in a nightmare, surrounded by poverty, abandonment, and chaos. He and his siblings clung to one another through it all, and they have emerged intact: healthy beautiful people. But they were brought up in an abusive and reckless nuthouse.
And this post is an ode to a teacher. A teacher who saved my friend’s life. When I say this I am quite serious, although she did not drag him from out of a burning house, or leap in to save him from drowning. No. What she did was she recognized the light within him, and she made it her business to protect it, and nurture it, and make sure it survived.
If that’s not saving someone’s life, then I don’t know what is.
My friend is extremely intelligent. His parents did not value this in him. On the contrary, it threatened them. To add to all of this, my friend, from a very young age, knew he was “different” from other boys. Somehow. How many other boys would stay home from school and put hot-rollers into their sister’s Cher-doll’s hair? How many other boys could recite Meet Me in St. Louis? How many other boys lip-synched to Barbra Streisand albums? He couldn’t put a name to what was different because he was just a little boy. But he knew it was there.
The teasing he got, from within his family and at school, was brutal. Teasing of this kind has one goal and one goal only: to crush what is different. The difference in him was like a scent and other kids could smell it. So they set out to destroy it. Which is why he would stay home from school, playing with his sister’s Barbies.
The little boy reached the 2nd grade. He had already learned some very hard lessons. He had already experienced cruelty, betrayal, terror. The end of this story could have been a terrible one. All of the cards were stacked against this person.
He might never have gotten out, were it not for his 2nd grade teacher.
I cannot remember her name, but I will hold a place in my heart for her forever. I did not meet this “little boy” until college when we became fast friends, but to my view, this 2nd grade teacher was directly responsible for the fact that this little boy went to college (the first one in his family to do so), that this little boy broke the pattern of abuse in his family, that this little boy got the hell OUT and said NO to what seemed to be his logical fate.
This 2nd grade teacher read E.B. White’s Stuart Little to the class.
And my friend, then 7 years old, had what can only be described as a life-changing experience, listening to that book.
Stuart Little is a mouse, born to human parents. Everyone is confused by him. “Where the heck did HE come from?” My friend, a little boy who was so “different” he might as well have been a mouse born to human parents, a little boy who was, indeed, smaller than everybody else in the class, listened to this book, agog, his soul opened up to it, and it changed his life.
First of all: for the first time, he really got reading. By this I mean the importance, and the excitement, of language. Language can crack open windows in places you thought were just flat brick. Language can create new and better worlds. Language is a way out. To this day, my friend is a voracious reader. I will never forget living with him while he was reading Magic Mountain. We lived in a one-room apartment, and so if I wanted to go to sleep and turn the lights off, my friend would take a pillow into the bathroom, shut the door, curl up on the bathmat, and read Magic Mountain long into the night.
I believe that this voraciousness is a direct result of that 2nd grade teacher reading Stuart Little to the class. If that had not happened, and if it hadn’t been that particular book, my friend might not have become a huge reader, might not have gone to college, might not have gotten OUT. It was that significant.
Stuart Little is “different”. Just like my friend was “different”. In hearing the words of that story, my friend rose above the pain, the loneliness, the torture, the fear, and realized that there were others out there who were “different” too. And that different was GOOD!
And here was the major revelation: Stuart Little’s small-ness ends up being his greatest asset. That which seemed like the biggest strike against him is not at all in the end! My friend, in his 7-year-old epiphany, embraced his size. Small didn’t mean “weak”. Not at all.
Somewhere, in his child-like soul, he knew he was gay although he did not have a word for it. It wasn’t a sexual orientation so much, at that time, but a sensibility. He wasn’t like the other kids. He didn’t know yet what that would mean for him, in his life, but it certainly isolated him in school. And it isolated him at home. And so, hearing about the adventures of Stuart Little, my friend realized that this life that he was living right now , the narrow circle of poverty and pain, did not have to be his life. He suddenly knew, for the first time in his life, that everything was going to be okay.
As the teacher read the story to the class, my friend had the intense sensation that the teacher was reading it directly to him, and only to him. It was such a strong feeling that he was able to describe it to me, vividly, years and years later. The rest of the class fell away, and it was as though she had singled him out, she was trying to give him a message of some sort, through the words of E.B. White. That book was for him.
By the time high school came around, my friend had learned that wit was the best defense against teasing. His humor, his sarcasm became his armor, but it also became the way he made friends. In a very short time, he acquired what can be only referred to as bodyguards, high school football players, who thought he was hilarious, and who protected him in the locker room, pushing anyone off who tried to mess with him.
My friend had a close circle of friends, all witty, artistic, interesting people, and these friends pushed him to apply to college, because they all were applying to college. And so he applied to college. He got in. He went to college. He graduated. He graduated college.
Years later, many years after college, he ran into that 2nd grade teacher in a breakfast restaurant in Rhode Island.
She (a teacher to the core) recognized him immediately, even in his adult-ness. She said, “My goodness – it is so wonderful to see you! I have heard so many wonderful things about what you are up to – how are you??”
They talked for a while. He caught her up on his life, she listened and supported him. She still was invested in what had happened to that small special boy she had taught many many years before.
And then, in a burst of open-ness, my friend said to her, kind of blowing it off, laughing at himself, “You know … this is kind of silly … but I want to tell you that … I remember so vividly you reading Stuart Little to the class. It had a huge impact on my life … and … I know it’s crazy and everything, but at the time, I truly had the feeling that you were reading it just to me.”
She looked at him then, smiled, and said, “I was.”
Those are the really great ones – the ones who invest the time and energy (and who still remember the kids 10, 20, 30 years later). There must be thousands of stories around the country just like that one – teachers touching and shaping lives and not asking for any other reward than the satisfaction of helping others. Great post.
I had a great 2nd teacher, too – Mrs. Rand. One of my favorite teachers.
Years later, when I was a junior in college, I was the lead in the musical – which became kind of a giant hit. We won awards, we took it to the big regional college competition – people wrote articles about it – it was a huge success – for the show, sure, but also for me personally.
And one night, before the show, I was in the dressing room, getting ready, doing my makeup, whatever. And a box of flowers came backstage. I had no idea who they were from – so I opened the card – and there was a sweet little note from Mrs. Rand, who said she always knew I was talented, even when I was 7, and that she was so happy I was still pursuing my dreams. I hadn’t seen her in 10, 12 years. I almost just burst into tears – had to hold it back until after the show … but it meant so much to me … that she would remember!! She was such a good teacher.
Thank you very much for sharing this story.
I was the same little boy as your friend, but one that grew up in a very conservative Roman Catholic culture in Northern Ireland, a culture that tries to either ‘beat out’ or hide this ‘differentness’ under the hearth rug. I’m happy to say my parents were not like his, though I hid a great chunk of myself, the essence of who and what I was, from them throughout all of my adolescence–just as many children growing up still do today, or so I am hearing from the mothers and fathers of long grown children at the readings I do.
I concealed this truth from them because I knew instinctively that they would not be able to understand what I was becoming (I could scarcely understand it myself) because they’d been provided no compass to navigate the situation in their [my] culture.
My savant-teacher took the form of a priest, the unworldly, local curate whom my mother whisked me to when I broke down crying on the eve of some major exam and told her I could not go on because I was at war with myself. Thank God for the wisdom and compassion of that old man, though at one point, my displeased mother did threaten not to give him any more money for the saying of Masses.
damian – woah. another life-saver in the form of a teacher. God bless people like that. :)
I am glad you made it “out”. :)
I also have my “teacher stories.” I was a weird and unpopular little kid in school and sometimes it was only the teachers who made it seem “safe” for me to stay in class. (I was a good student and had caring parents, but I’ll tell you, even with a good home life and generally few other problems, if your peers are bent on destroying you emotionally, they can come pretty close).
Even into high school and college there were teachers and professors who made huge differences to me. Part of the reason I went into college teaching was that I hoped to have the opportunity to help someone as much as, say, Dr. T. helped me.
The first time I was in grad school, I wasn’t really prepared, and I washed out of the program. The day after I was told, basically, “Don’t come back next fall” I met Dr. T. in the hall. She wasn’t one of my major professors – in fact, her specialization was far different from mine and I had just had her for a couple classes. She asked me how I was and I started to cry. She took me up to her office, sat me down, and just TALKED with me. For two whole hours. She told me things that, probably, would have got her in trouble if I had reported them to her higher-ups, but which made me feel much more like “It’s not me that failed, it’s this particular university that failed me.” And this was a busy busy woman with several grants and a lab full of graduate students needing her time – and she took TWO WHOLE HOURS to talk to me – a nobody, someone who couldn’t advance her career, someone who would be gone come the fall.
It was that talk with her that changed my mind from “I’ll just go and get a job waitressing somewhere, that’s all I’m able to do” to “Hey, maybe I should try this grad school thing again somewhere else.”
I wound up going to another school, getting a Ph.D., being runner up for “best Ph.D. student,” and having a job lined up even before I graduated.
I wrote to Dr. T. later on telling her what became of me and thanking her for her time – that ten years later I still remembered it and still felt it was very important to me.
I’ve not been able to do anything like that for any of my students, but I hope that some of the little things I’m doing help. Partly because I know how great it was to have someone just take time to hear your concerns, and also partly to try to pay back – on a cosmic scale if no other way – for what Dr. T. did for me.
I love that her name is Dr. T. I am picturing a black woman with a mohawk, draped in gold chains, shouting, “I pity the fool who won’t give Ricki a chance!!”
It is amazing, though – how sometimes all you need to do is give your TIME. TIME makes such a difference to a student.
Sheil..this summer i had to take one of the troupers…a magical imp we call “Shifty” to a local…well local for Vermont is 45 minutes away..anyway…clinic to get some medicine for ringworm(not really a worm;its more like athlete’s feet on the rest of your body)…the doctor was adorable(really!) and was very sweet to young Shifty..they discussed math, as Shifty is quite the math whiz besides his circus expertise…long story short(never!)…they realized they are from the same town in Mass. and went to the same high school and had the same math mentor who changed both their lives…the doctor and Shifty are at least 25 years apart in age… the Doctor proceeded to tell us with tears in his throat how he had just(the week before) written to the math teacher and told him of his success and thanked the man for his guidance. it was a gorgeous moment and he and Shifty and I bonded..also he suggested using Selsun Blue shampoo for the ringworm..better than medicine… worked like a charm. Teachers! Also…sidenote…the parents of Shifty and his brother..also on tour..thanked me for helping to make their fantastic sons “better boys”…can you beat that???!!!!!-Mitchell
I love the segue between “the teacher changed my life” and “I recommend Selsun Blue”.
Beautiful story, mitchell!!
I love Shifty. I love your stories about him.
by the way..every time i read my story retold thru ur genius..i weep like a baby..thank you!-Mitchell
he’s a special kid as is his bro..who began college yesterday at M.I.T….he emailed to say how excited and nervous he is…what a family!-mitchell
mitchell – it amazes me, too, to read Damian’s story above … the similarities between his story and yours … and yet completely different circumstances. the beautiful universality of your experience.
i hope… from the teens and parents that interact with…that the world is changing…that children of all orientations will simply feel loved and have role models to become wholly formed young adults without the trauma that so many of us went through..is it possible?
Damian..its amazing that we can have such similar experiences so far away…congrats for making it “out”!!!-Mitchell
mitchell – all it takes is one person. One person really can make that huge of a difference. And then you, in turn, made that difference with your siblings.
Mitchell- I read this story aloud to my daughter (now 12 1/2) about a year or so ago. She is now your biggest fan! I often tease Sheila, wondering how I gave birth to HER daughter, because they are so very much alike on so many levels, including their love for you. Ceileidh will out of the blue ask me, “How IS Mitchell these days?” (Of course her favorite Mitchell story is you and Sheila in Fine Arts pretending to be commentators of a runway fashion show. She makes me tell the story over and over, although I WAS NOT THERE!! Someday, you two will have to meet so you can tell her the whole story. See- you have an effect on people you haven’t even met- you are LEGEND, man!!!
“Penelope. Penelope is sporting the latest gold belt from Weathervane and is looking very dashing. Thank you, Penelope. Lovely.”
Coming frm a family of teachers, I have to say, this is one of my favorite stories.
And that little boy sounds like an extraordinary individual.
Thanks Sheila – crazy days in the new job, but I love it – and I simply love that story.
Thanks David. And I’m trying to do my bit to help people become a bit more tolerant. I’m happy to say that a major East coast bank has invited me in the fall to discuss what it’s like growing up ‘different’ in a conservative environment to 200 of their senior executives. I’m a bit nervous as they’re mostly white and from suburbia (the co-ordinators view not mine) and a lot will be homophobic, but it’s what I’ve got to do. Also PFLAG is evaluating my book to see if it can be used in any way. Every bit of light shed helps tomorrow’s kids.
Bravo Damian!!! Beth..i would love to meet your daughter..what a delight that would be!-Mitchell
Okay, Sheila, that story made me cry.