Teachers

President Macron praised teachers during his homage to the slain Samuel Paty. I couldn't help but think of all the teachers that made a difference in my life. In some ways they created my life.

In kindergarten Mrs. Jones was my teacher. I wanted the other lady who taught the next year. But when the next year came, my mother took over the class so I had Mrs. Jones again. It took two years to work up the nerve to ride the trike down the hill at outdoor playtime. Only years later when visiting Mrs. Jones did I realize that the huge hill was barely a slope.

Mrs. Jones would put stickers on our foreheads when we were extra good. I would want mine in my hand. I pasted them under the curtain in the living room. They were still there when my family sold the house when I was in college.

Mrs. Weagle was my first grade teacher until we moved to West Virginia at Christmas. I was so excited to learn to read. Dick and Jane were boring and I taught myself, finishing the book during the first month. At home I was able to read the Jack and Jill short stories, then the Bobbsey Twins and the Thornton W. Burgess books. 

Mrs. Weagle told my mother her sister so liked my name, she named her daughter Donna-Lane.

In West Virginia they sent me to private school run by Miss Blanche Miller, the sadist. My grandmother helped me catch up so by January when I started I knew the required times tables through 12 and could spell words that helped my reading. 

 Miss Blanche's ruler was never far from her hand. 

I remember a classmate, one of five of us, Bobby, who had curly hair. He messed his pants when she wouldn't let him go to the bathroom.

She made me go on the monkey bars. I hated every second of it. 

On the other hand I loved how we learned all kinds of things like how silk was made from silk worms. The lessons made the three hours of the school bearable.

Back in Massachusetts, Miss Carol was my third grade teacher at the Lowell Street School. The school suggested to my mother I be put in fourth grade but she said no. I was already the shortest child in third grade.

Milk was brought in each day but by snack time it was warm and repulsive. The cookies we could buy for a penny were not.

I was bored, bored, bored. No longer could I write cursive but had to print in big letters. I knew about different kinds of sentences. It was probably the only time in my life I was ahead in math. 

During the spring, I had mumps, measles then ran a low-grade fever for six weeks. I didn't want to go back to school once I was well. I rubbed poison ivy on my face. BIG MISTAKE. My mother used the entire prescribed lotion on my face to my screams. Only when she asked for a second bottle was she told that it was one part solution to ten parts water. The doctor consulted with a dermatologist and through the applications of many creams, I wasn't permanently scared. I never told my mother, I'd done it deliberately. If I were to meet her heaven, I doubt that I would confess.

Fourth grade was better with Mrs. Beaton, whom my mother had had for fourth grade with the exception of having to play the flutophone. It had a nice taste but the sound left much to be desired. 

There were a series of pamphlets on all kinds of subjects that we could read if we finished our work. I read every single one of them, enjoying those about famous historical figures the most.

I was allowed to start a school newspaper. Pupils from grades one to four submitted stories. My mother typed them up and had copies mimeographed for every one.

Fifth grade was at the Highland Street School, much bigger. Miss Joney was okay. School was something I went to and did, finding it neither difficult nor pleasurable.

When my mother complained to the principal Miss Graham who lived with Mrs. Beaton, that my spelling left much to be desired, Miss Graham said she expected I would have a secretary. My mother asked how I would know if my secretary was right.

I remember more the smiley pie day and the school fair where a doll with a trunk of turn of the century clothes was the prize in a drawing. I wanted that doll so badly. 

I didn't win it. 

We seemed to spend a lot of time coloring maps of the United States and learning about the different states. Most pupils had never been out of Massachusetts and the possibilities of different ways of living intrigued me.

The sixth grade was at the Prospect Street School across town. Mrs. Loud made Greek and Roman history seem as real as shopping at the Atlantic Super Market. So much so, that Roman and Greek Gods and goddesses became part of my imaginary life. The two huge rocks left by a glacier on our land became Roman Temples.

 Mrs. Loud was helpful with the way she handled that I was one of two girls who had started their periods. She saw to it I was never embarrassed.

Junior High meant we now changed classes. We were put in groups named for constellations. It didn't take much imagination to learn that the smart kids were in the constellations starting with A and it went downhill from their. 

I had no bad teachers. Mr. Copithorne was great for science, although my grades fluctuated. I loved the geology section but weather bored me. Mr. Butcher taught Soc. (social studies) and we learned about different countries increasing my desire to travel. I started looking at the piles of National Geographics stashed in our spare room. I had a crush on my math teacher Mr. Ganley who had beautiful eyes.

I started Latin, and declensions never made sense to me until as an adult I lived n Germany and studied German. Mrs. Eldridge, the teacher had a receding chin and raised Basset Hounds. My daughter would take five years of Latin at Boston Latin School and do well.

My parents were getting a divorce. I know the teachers gave me leeway because of it. I played on it. There were only two other kids with divorced parents and they were twins. The school secretary's daughter was the other student from a single-parent family. Her father had died.

High school was big time. I was a fair student doing well in subjects I loved, English, history and suffered with algebra. My mother had me tutored and because of nerves, I giggled throughout the lessons. I imagine the tutor dreaded the sessions as much as I did. When I repeated algebra, I aced it. I still don't care what X was.

Geometry to me wasn't math because we wrote out the the theorems.

Dr. Zimmerman, Zimmy, taught biology, chemistry and anatomy. For three years, five days a week, her wisdom penetrated my brain. I didn't realize how much until I took biology at university and knew almost everything the professor had to say.

In anatomy the text book had the sexual organ drawings cut out. We were able to find a complete copy. The drawings were boring.

Mr. Bond had us read books that I love to this day. Grapes of Wrath had me discovering the importance of symbolism that I apply in my own writing today.

Mr. Aldrich, whom I had for U.S. history, had us reading the newspaper for political events. My assignment was Cuba. I learned a bigger lesson: one could admire a person's abilities without liking them personally.

Poor Mr. Myers. His students drove him to a nervous breakdow and he was replaced by Mr. LaHood who would have been equally at home heading up the mafia or the marines. Still his world history lessons were fascinating, but I fought back when he said that mothers should not work or their kids would become juvenile delinquents. I pointed out my mother worked and I wasn't a juvenile delinquent. He never apologized, but he never repeated the claim.

Mr. D'Orlando for senior English was probably the most influential teacher ever. Ever. His saying that nothing is all black or all white but many shades of gray. My love of reading exploded if that were possible. He wanted to teach us Othello but couldn't because of racial issues. I immediately found a copy and read it.

It was in high school I started working as a junior reporter for the Lawrence Eagle Tribune covering the town of Reading. I was living my dream to be a reporter. Although I was shy, it forced me to push to get the story rather than to face the wrath of my editor. I would do this until I eloped at age 20.

I started university of Merrimack College, a Catholic college. Although my mother was anti Catholic, she thought it better to go to university where I could live at home. Never matter all the universities in Boston that existed...they were in the dangerous city.

It never felt right. The president took over our logic class one day and wouldn't admit what he said was wrong. I didn't go back for the second semester.

Working as file clerk convinced me that I needed to go back to university. I applied and was accepted at Lowell, a school that has gone through many transformations and is now Lowell's largest employer.

                                                Dr. Burto was a renaissance man  

I learned so much from Dr. Burto, Dr. Goler, Dr. Williams, the Blewetts, Peter and Mary. I was taught about art and increased my knowledge in music. I married after my Freshmen year, moved to Germany for two years and returned to finish much against my ex-husband's wishes. It was a battle but the teachers filled my heart and soul with knowledge that still warms me today. They opened my mind to the world.

Macron was right about the importance of teachers. I am who I am because of the seeds of  knowledge that they planted.