Best Teacher Ever…

[AdSense-A]

By Janet Grace

I had wild, curly hair as a child. I’m talking; “Little Orphan Annie”, curls. I wore what’s now called a skull cap; then called a “beanie”, with hopes that between home and school, my medusa mane with a mind of its own would have calmed down some. Some of the boys teased and asked if that was a wig. I’d inform them that 57% of them would be bald before twenty and THAT ended that attempt at bullying. I’d grab statistics from thin air. This was the 70s. There were no instant answers and that motley crew could barely think straight, let alone prove me wrong. My only concern was in being able to turn my head quickly without feeling like a slinky.

Given no one was paying attention and the longer the cap stayed on, the tamer the curls were, I kept it on.

As the school season progressed, others began wearing and leaving their caps on, too. Unbeknownst as to why, it soon became “a thing”. Within a month, parents were asking if the school truly added a navy blue naval cap to the uniform. At the school assembly, the principal addressed this as if we’d all decided to form a revolution. She asked every student to take their caps off unless there was a very good reason for it. Everyone took their hats off, except for me. Instead, I elected to ask if I could speak to her privately. She nodded.

After assembly, I went to her office, quietly knocked on her door, entered when she responded. I stood before her, took off my hat and up sprang my curls, as if on queue. I pointed to my hair and down rushed the tears. She jumped up from her seat, came around her desk and hugged me saying: “Awwe, it’s alright.” I was given permission to keep my hat on for that day. I learned to wear it to sleep for the same effect.

The teacher, Principal Boldenweck, was a novice who’d decided NOT to take her vows to become a nun. At 22, she became our sixth grade teacher and two years later, the school principal. Our sixteen children sixth grade class was her first teaching job post graduation, at our private parochial Roman Catholic school. You couldn’t ask for a better school or kids. Everyone played together, teased each other relentlessly, but there was no malice, there were no arguments. Life was truly a dream. Everyone knew each other since pre-school. The school was co-ed from kindergarten until eighth grade. We were an extended family, really.

During that time, my health was compromised. I missed a lot of school because of it. When I was in the hospital, she came to see me. When I needed glasses, she asked for a parent teacher meeting with my mother, who was so annoyed she had to miss work to come deal with my stuff. When my mother appeared, she was in the devil’s own mood. She shot me one of her chilling looks and I couldn’t understand what I’d done. I was too young to realize that my teacher was calling my mother out because she’d realized I was basically raising myself, at ten. I knew enough to be squeaky clean; have the best pressed uniform in the whole damned school; the shiniest shoes, be respectful, mindful and turn in all assignments on time. That was my mother’s defense. I’d been raised to be able to manage a store, cook a meal, “MacGyver” electrical components and fend for myself should I ever be lost on the Appalachian mountains, or so it seemed.

She can’t see the MF board, was the teachers.

So, my teacher bought me my first pair of glasses and made sure I was eating lunch, not candies and snacks given that’s what we sold at the store and that’s what I would stuff my pockets with, on my way to school. Yes, I looked like a little fire plug.

I was so lucky to have someone who was looking out and caring about what happened to me.

Many of us from that class are still in contact with one another, thanks to social media and life’s funny ways of having you bump into old mates. We all seem to have similarly amazing stories about that one teacher whose love and commitment to each one of us made a positive difference in our lives. She spoke for those of us who needed championing. She advocated. She’s in her early 80’s and still reaches out to me about how amazing I’ve always been. I can’t help but happy cry, from knowing I’ve been so blessed in so many ways.

Here’s to The Best Teacher Ever and those like her who’ll square off against tyrant, bully parents, blow their whistles at all injustices against children and bestow the much needed love that so many overworked, over-stretched parents trying their best to achieve everything they can for their children and themselves, as best they can — knowing it is needed as much as food, clothing and shelter. Sometimes, there’s too much happening at once, sometimes one just is not feeling it. It’s not meant to be stated as a “make wrong”. Apologies; in advance, it’s a fact. It happens. Sometimes our eyes are closed. You don’t know what you don’t know that you don’t know.

I’m going to call out another hero, like Ms. Wendy.

Her name is Bethany “BST2” Armstrong and you can follow her on Twitter @BethanyLArmstr1. I invite you to read her articles and see for yourself why it is that I see her as a Hero. Here is an archive of her work.

Do you have any WONDERFUL stories about teachers and mentors who made a positive difference in your life.