I don’t remember my third grade teacher’s name, and I no longer have the year books from that particular school to go check. I did third grade twice, though not because I failed the year or something tragic like that (tragic because it would have resulted in my mother actually killing me and being sentenced to death – since we lived in Texas). I repeated the third grade because I started school a year (or possibly two, it was a British school so things were a little different) early, we moved to the US from Italy in January, right smack in the middle of the fourth grade, and when my mom enrolled me in school I would have been at the youngest by far in my class, so I repeated the third grade, where I was still the youngest in my class but only by a few months, and could concentrate on getting over the culture shock rather than the actual school work. Incidentally, one of my first memories of America was sitting in the principal’s office taking a test to see where I measured up academically and one of the questions was about American coins, how much a nickel, a dime and a quarter where or something like that, and I had just seen a sesame street episode that morning that explained the whole thing to me (thank you PBS). I was also thoroughly confused by lockers, we didn’t have them in my old school and when the principal asked me if I needed to use the restroom (other completely foreign word to me then) I looked down the hall and all I noticed was the long rows of little doors and couldn’t figure out how on earth Americans went to the bathroom.
Anyway, back to my third grade teacher, I had a really hard time that year because I was different. I had a weird (British) accent, my parents had enrolled me in a (of all the ridiculous things) Baptist private school – I didn’t even know what “Baptist” meant, a lot of things were strange to me – like pb&j sandwiches. I had never learned cursive, rarely used a ballpoint pen, or a pencil since we used a fountain pen for everything at my old school and I had learned division the European way.
One day I get to class, and every kid in the whole entire school was wearing cowboy/cowgirl outfits, this completely shocked me… it was Go Texan Day, and there I was, in my regular clothes. I was so upset I ran to the teacher and buried my face in her navy blue skirt and she hugged me. Teachers didn’t hug at the British school I went to in Italy. She then explained to me what was going on, put a cowboy hat on my head and a bandana around my neck and there I was, a cowgirl, though without the boots.
It’s not a big deal, stuff like this happens daily to kids, it’s how they learn, we went to the gym and square-danced and it was all better, but even though I don’t remember her name, I will never forget her face and how she hugged me. Teachers are important. Teachers make a difference.
That was a lovely story. Too bad that teachers are now instructed not to touch children. (Too many abuse reports.) I’m sure a lot of kids need a hug during the school day, and some rarely get one at home.
Check out my response to Mama Kat here: http://proartz.blogspot.com/2012/08/butterfly-kisses-poetry.html
I don’t know, sometimes I think we take things too far, for every bad teacher there must be a hundred good ones… but on the other hand what mother wouldn’t do everything in her power to prevent her child being abused, even if it means no hugs… It’s a sad state of affairs in my opinion.
I agree – hugs are good, and most kids need hugs in school at one time or another! Good for her. thanks for your story!
Hugs are great! Children need good, loving teachers, and teachers need schools with resources and who listen to them. I wonder if we’ll ever actually get there… One thing’s for sure, when you do have a really good teacher, you never forget her.
What a great story. Now I’m curious, how do Europeans do division?
I got so confused learning them both that I never really learned to properly divide on paper, calculators saved my life! I’m sure that practically it’s the same thing (how many ways can there possibly be to do long division?!) but graphically it’s different. That’s all I can tell ya!
What a sweet and and kind teacher. I can’t begin to imagine moving from England to Texas. It must have been like going to the moon. Also.. ditto on Barbara’s question on Europeans division?
I actually moved from Italy where I attended a British school to Texas… cause my parents like things complicated! (In fact, after the baptist school they put me in a french school, and that shot any chance I had of ever learning how to do division!)
Texas is a culture shock to begin with so I cannot imagine what it must have been like to come from another country. As a former teacher I love how much you value teachers.
Teachers are some of the most important people in our children’s lives… I don’t understand how most people don’t get that. A good teacher makes a gigantic difference in a child’s life and our childhood experiences shape us as adults… so logic would have it that we invest more money in our schools and our teachers than in anything else (along with healthcare…) but alas, many people disagree with me! (and there you have it, I’m a bleeding heart liberal!)