A Teacher’s Influence

When I was little, I wanted to be a teacher. My mom says I came home from kindergarten and made my younger brothers sit through rhyming words and math problems. Until the 3-year-old threw his pencil and announced he was done with school.

I attended the same elementary school K-6. The place is full of memories of my brothers and me. I can still see the lockers, gym, lunchroom and a girl in the schoolyard.

The school bell rang as the red rubber ball bounced into my square. A gust of hot wind whipped my ponytail. I tossed the ball into the bin and started toward the door of my elementary school with the girls from the foursquare game.

Recess could be a lot to manage. You had to know the unspoken rules of the playground.

• Always wear shorts under your skirt, especially if you plan to hang from the jungle gym
• Don’t get caught when being chased by a boy
• Watch for bees when making a clover bracelet
• Don’t hang out near the teacher on duty

But after recess, when I sat cross-legged on the cool floor, 5th-grade politics and alliances faded, and I relaxed. 

Mrs. Mitchell, a diminutive teacher who was a few years from retirement, sat on a metal chair with a wooden seat and murmured, “Now where were we?” She turned to the bookmarked page in My Father’s Dragon and began, “A baby dragon fell from a low flying cloud. He was too young to fly very well; and besides he had bruised one wing quite badly.”

Words transported me to an island where animals spoke and dragons were a thing to be rescued. A place where Elmer traveled wearing a cap and a bookbag. 

A lifetime has passed and I still remember the books she read us. 

• Summer of the Swans
• Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH
• Island of the Blue Dolphin
• Matthew, Mark, Luke and John
• My Father’s Dragon
• James and the Giant Peach
• Mr. Popper’s Penguins

Scientists debate nurture versus nature and I guess my infatuation with words may be equal parts of both. I was, after all, raised by a book lover. When I asked her sister to share childhood stories of my mom, my aunt only came up with one. She laughed and said, when it was time to clear the dinner dishes, your mom disappeared behind the wood-burning stove with a book. 

Although my mom was a key factor in my love of reading, Mrs. Mitchell’s influence can’t be overlooked. 

I’m not sure we can measure the influence of a good teacher. 

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Years later I was the mom of three elementary school children in the town where I grew up. They each had Ms. Adair, who taught enrichment classes. My kids were in her classroom a combined total of 12 years where they explored Chinese culture and art, Medieval history, Mayan civilization, logic, analogies, astronomy and Shakespeare.

She respected each student’s talent and taught them the world was open to them.

How do you measure the influence of a good teacher? 

My twins were in kindergarten the year their older brother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. During the first round of chemotherapy, his hair began to thin. Rather than wait for it to go in patches, he decided to shave his head. His dad and older brother joined him in the bald look. None of us expected the six-year-old to join forces, but he wanted to shave his head too. 

The next Monday morning, he refused to attend kindergarten. At church, another child had called him bald and now he didn’t want to face a classroom of peers. 

It was kind of my last straw. Cancer diagnosis and treatment were a burden on each of us and I didn’t think I could handle one more thing. Feeling desperate, I called the school to explain the situation to his teacher Miss Karma. 

After our discussion, Miss Karma asked if she could speak with my son. When he hung up, he was ready to go to school. I found out later that she offered him 4 more gummy bears than normal for submitting homework. But I bet it was her calming presence more than the candy that gave him the courage to walk into the school. 

Once the school bell rang, she gathered her students and invited my son to stand beside her. She called him her class hero and explained what he had done for his brother. 

Miss Karma was my angel. She helped my little people manage the stressful months of cancer treatment. 

Can the influence of good teachers be measured?

   “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.”

Henry Brooks Adams