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capri0mniIt will be my mother's 71st birthday on April 8th. She's no longer in this world. But it will be her birthday, nonetheless. To celebrate, I'm going to share the story of how she taught be a very important lesson that I've kept with me to this day.
--- --- --- --- --- --- ---
I was in the third grade, and was sitting in class where I always sat: right up front, right beside the door -- where it was easy for me to wheel my chair up to the desk. I was facing the big classroom windows, and the blackboard was to my right.
Now, on this particular day, the class was particularly chatty: laughing and whispering, and passing notes. I distinctly remember trying to shush the curly-black-haired girl across from me, and my annoyance when she teased me for it. Meanwhile, the teacher was trying to teach, demanding that all of us be quiet, and not succeeding. Finally, in frustration, she said something to the effect of: "Since this class won't listen, I'll write the instructions on the board, and you'll have to read them for yourselves. And if you don't do the assignment, you'll get an 0." (Or an X-mark, or something like that ... we were still at the stage of getting grades in the form of star stickers)
Well, that stunned the class, and everybody quieted down while she wrote. But it was a sunny day, and all I could see was glare -- I could maybe make out one letter in five. I called the teacher over and asked for her help, saying I couldn't see the board, and could she please tell me what it said, that I really had been trying to listen.
And she refused, saying that it would be cheating, if the other students overheard her. So I asked her to whisper it in my ear, so they wouldn't overhear. And she still said No -- that this was punishment for the whole class, and she couldn't give me special treatment.
Then she went back to her desk, and I spent the rest of the period squinting at the board, and trying to figure out what it said.
Naturally, when I got home that afternoon, I was pretty upset. Mother asked what was wrong, and when I told her, she was upset, too. Now, some mothers might have told me that she was the teacher, and probably knew best. Some other mothers may have gotten angry at the teacher on my behalf, maybe even complain to the principal. This is what my mother did:
She said: "I'm going to a PTA meeting tonight, and I'll see your teacher there. You should write a letter to her, and tell her how you feel about this and why. I'll help you write it, and then I'll deliver it for you." And so that's what we did. My mother taught me how to write an angry but respectful letter in my own words, with the proper form, grammar, spelling and neatly printed. Then we had dinner, the babysitter came over, and she went to the meeting with my letter in hand.
The next time I saw Mother was as I was coming down to breakfast the next morning, and the first thing she told me was that I had written a really good letter. It made the teacher so nervous that after she finished reading it, she folded the paper and creased it so hard it tore down the middle. My mother assured me that this was a sign that my position was the stronger one -- that if the teacher had been right, what I'd said wouldn't have bothered her so much.
Later, in school, before class started, the teacher squatted down beside my chair, and shook that letter in my face, saying that she was the teacher, and I was the student, and that I had No Right to question her Authority like that.
I didn't really hear every word she said, because all I could focus on was that perfectly vertical tear in the middle of the paper, from where she had creased it -- that tear going through the words I had written. All I could think was: "She's scared of me. She can go on all she wants about how students must obey teachers. But I'm the one with real authority, because I'm right."
And I never feared teachers again, because I had seen with my own eyes that they could be just as fallible, and scared, as the rest of us.
I learned that, with the right words, I could strike someone to the core, even though I was 'just' a kid. And I learned that true authority doesn't come from age, or status, or what job you have, but from being right about something, and having the courage to speak up.
Thank you, Mother.
I was in the third grade, and was sitting in class where I always sat: right up front, right beside the door -- where it was easy for me to wheel my chair up to the desk. I was facing the big classroom windows, and the blackboard was to my right.
Now, on this particular day, the class was particularly chatty: laughing and whispering, and passing notes. I distinctly remember trying to shush the curly-black-haired girl across from me, and my annoyance when she teased me for it. Meanwhile, the teacher was trying to teach, demanding that all of us be quiet, and not succeeding. Finally, in frustration, she said something to the effect of: "Since this class won't listen, I'll write the instructions on the board, and you'll have to read them for yourselves. And if you don't do the assignment, you'll get an 0." (Or an X-mark, or something like that ... we were still at the stage of getting grades in the form of star stickers)
Well, that stunned the class, and everybody quieted down while she wrote. But it was a sunny day, and all I could see was glare -- I could maybe make out one letter in five. I called the teacher over and asked for her help, saying I couldn't see the board, and could she please tell me what it said, that I really had been trying to listen.
And she refused, saying that it would be cheating, if the other students overheard her. So I asked her to whisper it in my ear, so they wouldn't overhear. And she still said No -- that this was punishment for the whole class, and she couldn't give me special treatment.
Then she went back to her desk, and I spent the rest of the period squinting at the board, and trying to figure out what it said.
Naturally, when I got home that afternoon, I was pretty upset. Mother asked what was wrong, and when I told her, she was upset, too. Now, some mothers might have told me that she was the teacher, and probably knew best. Some other mothers may have gotten angry at the teacher on my behalf, maybe even complain to the principal. This is what my mother did:
She said: "I'm going to a PTA meeting tonight, and I'll see your teacher there. You should write a letter to her, and tell her how you feel about this and why. I'll help you write it, and then I'll deliver it for you." And so that's what we did. My mother taught me how to write an angry but respectful letter in my own words, with the proper form, grammar, spelling and neatly printed. Then we had dinner, the babysitter came over, and she went to the meeting with my letter in hand.
The next time I saw Mother was as I was coming down to breakfast the next morning, and the first thing she told me was that I had written a really good letter. It made the teacher so nervous that after she finished reading it, she folded the paper and creased it so hard it tore down the middle. My mother assured me that this was a sign that my position was the stronger one -- that if the teacher had been right, what I'd said wouldn't have bothered her so much.
Later, in school, before class started, the teacher squatted down beside my chair, and shook that letter in my face, saying that she was the teacher, and I was the student, and that I had No Right to question her Authority like that.
I didn't really hear every word she said, because all I could focus on was that perfectly vertical tear in the middle of the paper, from where she had creased it -- that tear going through the words I had written. All I could think was: "She's scared of me. She can go on all she wants about how students must obey teachers. But I'm the one with real authority, because I'm right."
And I never feared teachers again, because I had seen with my own eyes that they could be just as fallible, and scared, as the rest of us.
I learned that, with the right words, I could strike someone to the core, even though I was 'just' a kid. And I learned that true authority doesn't come from age, or status, or what job you have, but from being right about something, and having the courage to speak up.
Thank you, Mother.
no subject
Date: 2005-04-02 08:40 pm (UTC)Your mother was obviously very special, happy birthday to her:)
no subject
Date: 2005-04-02 09:21 pm (UTC)She liked to describe herself as a "shameless agitator." And she wasn't shy about taking credit for her part in ending the cold war.