Mrs. Poole
Saturday, March 3, 2012 at 4:00PM When I was ten years old, my family moved to New Zealand. I’ve mentioned this before; I even told you about the holiday I invented with my friends while I lived there. What I probably didn’t go into detail about was the culture shock a 10 year old can experience. If you would like your child to have the wisdom that world travel can bring, perspective on other cultures, a honed ability to fly under the social radar, and other life skills, by all means, move them across the planet for a while.
But don’t think it will be easy on them.
My first school and teacher were of a transient nature, while we stayed in a hotel-suite thing and waited for our rental house to become available. It left little impression on me, other than the threat of lice and a particularly large Maori girl who shared my name (and felt she had first claim to it). My second school, the one I would attend for the next two years, was different.
For one thing, there was a uniform. Obviously, this was new to me. Did you wear the uniform as required or flaunt regulations to appear cool? Did you buy it itchy and new or hope to score one second-hand, and hope nobody noticed?
It didn’t matter after your first few months, as it turns out. By that point I was too awash in my own misery to care what any of my peers thought. My teacher was a powdered and crusty specimen, likely near (or even past) retirement, and she was part of the Old Guard. She Guarded proper English grammar, and copperplate handwriting, and against what I’m sure she saw as the downfall of civilization: viz a viz the influx of Americans. (Nothing would convince her that I wasn’t technically American.) She considered me part of the problem; I was uncouth, probably inbred, educated in an inferior system, and therefore the solution was to scorn, humiliate, and degrade me until I knew my place.
I was entirely used to being a good student and a teacher’s pet. To have a teacher actually criticize me, to not even like me, was shattering. It didn’t matter how well I thought I did something (even something I thought was stupid and pointless, like endless oval O’s to practice for the copperplate cursive writing I didn’t possess), she had nothing for me but a sharp word and a C average.
After a while I made good friends that were my allies against this tyrant, and they kept my spirits up by helping me make fun of her wobbly underarms and her habit of yelling so enthusiastically that she spit on herself. Together, somehow we made it through that whole first year. Our second year teacher was a relief; a younger hippie who loved children and made us all sit in a circle each day to talk about our feelings. But do you know what? I don’t remember her name. I can remember the exact shade and shake of my first-year teacher’s underarm flab, but not my lovely second-year teacher’s name. (I have the vague sense that it involved a flower.)
What teacher made an impression on you?
Reader Comments (12)
Funny enough, Mr. Hood. He made me stand in the hall for LONG hours because I talked too much in class. Interesting way to help a child....
Well, I must say that you seem to have come out of that dreadful first year, with that dreadful teacher ,with humor
intact. So happy that you had friends who cheered you on and made the year doable.
Like you, I was always "the teacher's pet!" I have fond memories of 2nd grade and Mrs. Perkins and 10th grade,
Mrs. Hardesty, who told me I should be a writer.
I was always teacher's pet too. In Grade 2 Miss Virag left half way through the year--I found out decades later she had gotten pregnant and left under a cloud of sixties shame. In Grade 3, Miss Lidfors wore a series of blonde bob wigs and gogo boots a la Emma Peele. Small town SK was a pretty happening place.
As I was reading this.... I couldn't help but think of Harry Potter and his horrible teacher Dumbridge. I think that was her name.
Oh man, what an experience.
I enjoyed reading this a lot. So do you think, on balance, that it was a good thing for you to have her as a teacher? Or is she just memorable in a negative way?
The closest comparison I have is that my first grade teacher, Mrs. Simms, gave me the only spanking I ever received at school or anywhere. She spanked me with a paint stirring stick for watching the classroom toilet overflow instead of going back to my desk. But she also taught me to read. So I guess I thank her for that part?
Mr Hawkes, social studies and Western Civ from grades 10 to 12. Taught me I actually had a relevant thought in my head and could be more than just the class clown.
I was going to tell you about how my amazing teachers made a stronger impression on me, but then I realized that I couldn't remember either of their names. I can, however, remember 11th Grade English Mr Seal, who was the worst teacher I ever had. Among his jackassery were his quizzes about topics like, "Mr Seal's 5 Most Beautiful Women in History in Order," (#1 which was "melon-breasted Helen of Troy," and if you left off the "melon-breasted" part and just wrote "Helen of Troy" you got it wrong,) and telling myself and another exceptionally tall boy in class on a daily basis in front of the class that we needed to start dating so that we could make tall babies. Trauma much?
(Mrs Eicholt! That was my favorite English teacher's name! I knew it would come to me.)
I remember moving from rural western Washington state to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. That was culture shock but probably not on a scale of what you went through. My favorite teacher was Mr Aust. He was great and when my son got into his class 20+ years later he was still great.
Okay, I hate the fact that negativity sticks in our human minds so much easier than positive experiences! Just a lesson to us all to try and not provide others with that negative experience, I guess. I loved and trusted my tenth grade English teacher who also coached our academic team (what? It was cool to be smart, right?). He was just really GOOD at what he did and never angry or judgy with any of us.
Miss Speck, because she had a Smell of the Day. And every day, we'd go up and try to figure our what scent was simmering in the pot. Whoever got it right got a prize. SMELL OF THE DAY. Genius.
Right now, I'm going through a thing with Jude at school. His current teacher is the sweetest thing in the world, just an absolutely lovely woman, and unfortunately as dull as dirt. He's so bored. The teacher he'll be having next year has a reputation for being incredibly tough and a real hard ass, but he is convinced that she will be very interesting and he's going to love school next year. I think he might be right.
I have no names. None. I feel old now. But you made me feel nostalgic for childhood alliances.