Last week was Teacher Appreciation day, so today's post is dedicated to teachers.
The teacher I remember best was Mrs. Sansone. I’d just transferred to public school, fourth grade, and I was terribly shy. I hated playground time because I didn't have anyone to play with, so I'd stand around awkwardly. When Mrs. S started asking me to walk to the corner deli to buy her a cheese sandwich and two ice cream sandwiches – one for each of us -- it was such a gift. For a month or two, I spent lunchtime inside with her. It was a lifesaver until I finally started making a few friends.
The teacher I liked least was a sour-faced German teacher in high school. She had taken the place of my first German teacher, a beautiful, charismatic woman whom I adored and who died suddenly of a brain aneurysm. I guess sour-puss didn't stand a chance.
Funny to think I became a teacher. I never had any desire to teach until I had kids. In fact, I never had any desire to be anything when I grew up, except to be a mom.
I loved reading Steinbeck’s East of Eden because I had a teacher who enjoyed it so much that her enthusiasm spilled over onto her students. What I remember most about her, other than that book, was the day she told us how sad she’d been in high school when she found out an I.Q. test showed her to be very “average” in intelligence. She encouraged us not to judge ourselves based on a test or on someone else's opinion.
I wish I could go back to high school for a day, knowing what I do now, feeling as I do now. It would be so interesting to see it with new --or old -- eyes.