I get plenty of grief for being so “hard” on teachers, especially elementary school teachers. I am. My critics would object, if they knew, that I do not take account of the fact that Las Cruces at any time has never resembled Shaker Heights, Ohio, where I lived and went to school. In my day, the 40s and 50s, Shaker was, so I am told, the wealthiest per-capita city in the country, and its public school system was nationally ranked in the top ten. No longer, of course, but it still does reasonably well in view of demographic and socio-economic changes in this inner-ring eastern suburb of Cleveland, Ohio.
As a peripatetic teacher who, for 45 years, taught English to urban, suburban and rural students, variously, black, Latino, Vietnamese, and white. I have taught in public and private, coed and single-sex secondary schools; in public and private universities; and in women’s courses and seniors’ programs. I have taught in nine states and the District of Columbia. As a result, I strongly believe that what a teacher knows and does in the classroom matters much more than what a school and community is or does.
My standard for judging elementary school teachers is shaped by my elementary school teachers; they define what is possible. I regard them as my seven “mothers,” not because they were smothering, but because they knew who I was, provided the “extras” to encourage me, and taught, taught, taught. Until I left for college, I would occasionally return to Malvern Elementary School to visit with them: Ms. Patterson, Ms. Adolph, Ms. Hardy, Ms. Miller, Ms. Duncan, Ms. Heindle, and Ms. Brooks. I revere them still.
Because they knew me, my first teaching experience occurred when I was in the 5th grade. Ms. Hardy, my 2nd grade teacher, was teaching a unit on science; one lesson was on birds. I was a known “nature boy,” with a special interest in birds. So Ms. Hardy asked Ms. Heindle to excuse me to teach her class on birds. To this day, I remember what I taught: nothing with pictures of common yard birds—robins, blue jays, cardinals, English sparrows, etc.—but everything about birds’ adaptive morphology—the shapes of the body and its parts, and their distinctive functions.
When it came to teaching, they taught. They did not rely on group projects or field trips; I remember no projects and only two field trips, though there may have been a few more. They were not shy about lectures to explain new material or using drills and rote to reinforce instruction. The most memorable of my learning experiences were the daily math exercises in Ms. Miller’s class. Every day, we had fifty problems to do, emphasis equally divided between accuracy and speed. David Clark and I used to compete with one another to be best at both. Today, to the astonishment of check-out clerks, I compute my change faster than they can input their register.
What explains their excellence? Three things: subject-matter competence, confidence in themselves as teachers, and commitment to educating students—emphasize educating. In the post-war years, smart women had few choices of profession, teaching being one of them. (An unintended effect of women’s liberation has been the replacement of the smart by the not-so-smart, with no one since developing a Plan B to restore the status quo ante.) Except for Ms. Duncan, their unmarried (and, of course, back then, their childless) status, likely gave them more undistracted time to prepare lessons and grade papers.
They taught. They wanted and needed help from no one—no reading specialists, no school counselors, no hangers-on; a school nurse bandaged schoolyard scrapes or called home if we ran fevers (measles, chicken pox, and mumps were commonplace). No doubt to the astonishment of teachers today, parent-teacher conferences were almost unknown. If parents came to Malvern, they came on a summons from the Principal, Ms. Gabriel. Obviously, I did not want my parents involved in my education, and they were not.
Not after my first day. My mother drove me to school, we walked up the outdoor steps to the kindergarten room, and she introduced me to Ms. Patterson. After a quick hug, kiss, and “good-bye,” she left. At first, I felt abandoned, but, within minutes, I was playing with classmates. The rest is a history of academic success: academic awards and honors in high school and college; two degrees each at Cornell and Michigan, including a Ph.D., with majors in the humanities and secondary education; scholarly publications; and continued learning which enabled my career as a consultant mainly in defense, energy, and the environment. I should add that, as an undergraduate, before I double-majored in philosophy and English, I had begun in engineering physics but transferred to arts and sciences because I did not want to build spaceships and nuclear weapons.
My educational history is unusual. My elementary school teachers gave me an education which developed my abilities, supported my interests, and enabled me to choose the intellectual and professional life which I wanted for myself and my family. Students with different abilities and interests will choose differently; my children did. But all students should have a good education in the basics to support future learning for whatever careers or lifestyles they choose. Otherwise, failing to provide it, teachers limit the choices of their students before they can choose for themselves.
My “mothers’” legacy to me is my love of learning. Besides fiction, I read economics, history, philosophy, religion, and (the history of) science. In words used by educators in my day, I have lived “life-long learning” as the result of a “well-rounded education.” It began with seven competent, confident, committed teachers. That kind of formative, 7-year elementary education does not exist in Las Cruces, not because it is not rich like Shaker Heights, but because it does not value a good education and does not seek teachers who can stand and deliver one, whether for love or money.
No comments:
Post a Comment