There are few jobs more fun and more rewarding than being a teacher. While rough moments may crop up, like finding swear words on my office window in bright red lipstick or having a scooter board crash with 2nd graders that ends with blood and tears or the trauma of holding a sobbing child who has just lost a beloved grandpa or reading an essay of heartbreak and abuse, each moment added to the depth of my understanding.
A call to action might also include ripping apart two sparring “warriors” in the midst of an anger display but all three of us survived. While some say, “It is easy to leave the job at work” with teaching I’d say this is humanly impossible.
Something I loved about teaching physical education was getting to know every student in the school. With elementary PE the swinging door, 30-minute sessions did not lead to in-depth interaction, but I still knew every child by name.
High school PE required a few years to get acquainted with everyone, but it arrived. Having all-girl classes at that time, some terrific relationships formed. Because I get a kick out of running and physical activity, I have always hoped that some of this rubbed off. Not everyone loves motion, but most can find something they like.
Archery is a great example. Most of my students had never held a “real” bow and arrow so they listened attentively as I explained some intricacies plus incorporating the commands “Ready, Set, Fire!” with an imperative never to fire until the order was given.
We succeeded with no mishaps. Most students managed to release the arrow at the appointed moment but at first, most floated off into oblivion, headed toward the target but never quite encountering it. A simple lift of the arrow holding elbow, however, allowed virtually everyone to have the point arrive at the desired destination. I gained a little respect with this simple adjustment.
I also enjoyed teaching French. It is another subject that only a very few students had experience with so when they listened and practiced, they got better with reading, writing, and speaking a foreign language. Trying to conduct lessons only in French meant kids picked up the language more quickly and with enthusiasm. Since I had studied in France, knew some history of the country, and pursued cooking I worked to relay these links to another culture to my students. With kind and generous Home Economics teachers (a bygone course that benefitted every child), my classes were permitted to enter the kitchen and prepare recipes 6-8 times each year. One amazing aspect, even with the same recipes and matching ingredients, each cooking team’s efforts produced slightly different results. Everything tasted fine, but crepes, onion soup, pomme en jacket, and tarte tatin always had an individual twist.
Home Ec. teachers went even further so that French Club cooked faculty lunches and a dinner for parents. Dressed in white shirts with dark skirts and pants and a towel over the arm, Bonjour and Bonsoir resounded throughout the library-turned-restaurant. Almost always the creations tasted delicious – again same recipes and ingredients with me letting them do the preparation. Inevitably, sometimes the best efforts skewed awry. Take, for example, leek and potato soup. While I had reiterated and the recipe stated, “Slice only the white, end portion of the leeks”, dedicated students chopped right to the tips. They sauteed, added water and diced potatoes and simmered as prescribed.
Although the soup’s looked perfect, as folks dove in with spoons, a stringy mess encircled the utensil. The problem, of course, the stalks of leeks are, well, stringy, tangly greenish, potential choking hazards.
They explained, guests understood, bowls were removed and now came the piece de resistance – Poulet Jardiniere (chicken with vegetables). I admit I had emphasized that the French prefer meat rare, but that’s beef, not bloody chicken. Again, plates were scooped up and raced to the awaiting microwave.
Finally, dessert – Omelette Norvegienne (Baked Alaska). Two dear students had prepared this ice cream and meringue wonder with supreme excitement as a treat to follow “Chansons de Noel” (Christmas caroling). Unfortunately, they took the word “baked” seriously and had left it in the oven while we trudged through the snow with our singing medley.
We returned to a melted mess, luckily contained on a baking sheet. A soupy and sad display, we turned to our Buche de Noel (Christmas log) and devoured it with glee.