Those who can, do — and those who can’t…teach. We teachers have to hear this line innumerable times during our careers (some long — and some not-so-long). At-any-rate – perhaps there is some merit to the saying, and-then-again, perhaps there is no merit.
We in education currently suffer under the throes of NCLB (No Child Left Behind) – the legacy of some Bush whore: It’s frankly fuck up American education – and facilitated the nonsense of the “content standard” – that spells the demise of anything resembling a “real” education. Actually, American education was headed down the path of perdition (as I have noted) even before NCLB – thanks to “special education.” But this article is not meant to be a condemnation – but more of a celebration of the teacher! As I tell my college students – we all get into THE field because of that one, magic teacher who touched our hearts and inspired us to try the same for others. In that sense, I guess we are Daniel Quinn’s “Leavers.”
I could find myself starting with Miss Fitch (my fourth grade teacher) – who I was in lust with. Well, I’m not sure if “lust” is the appropriate term – but I did think she was a goddess – what with her hairdo and ’65 Mercury Cougar. But since I can’t remember anything specific about her teaching methods – except to put me in the corner for four hours, or to have me write 500 times that I will not lean back in my seat again – I don’t know if I can consider her as one of those teachers who inspired me to train others in, to my mind, the noblest of all professions…
“Polly” van Der Mescht – my 9th grade English poetry teacher at Grey High School in Port Elizabeth South Africa was probably the first teacher to “affect” the sensibilities of my abstract mind. (The ‘abstract’ piece comes from Piaget – and that all-important variable that separates the child (a concrete operational thinker) from the adolescent (a formal operational thinker). Polly loved the Romantics (particularly Keats and Wordsworth) – and he read their stuff in such a way – that this romantic teen was ultimately captivated and consumed by visions and sensations of being “one with nature.” The fact that Polly played guitar in class – and performed at the local folk club – was also a plus for idolatry.
But Margaret “Maggie” Rosbolt – of Farmington Harrison H.S. fame — was the teacher who really kick-started my love-for-knowledge, and, demonstration of its acquisition in the written form. Mrs. Rosbolt was my 12th grade creative writing teacher – and she got me to write like I hadn’t written before. I literally fell in love with writing. She wasn’t a goddess – she was rather plump (with a very cute face) – but she did serve as a muse for this questing artist. I did some fairly decent poetry while under her tutelage – and whether or not she knew I was as-high-as-a- kite in her class I will never know – I therefore thank her for her “being there.”
Mrs. Rosbolt also hated Twinkies with a passion. She voiced her disgust for this foodstuff on an almost daily basis. We used to love to stuff her desk with Twinkies removed from their wrappings (she in turn, would pelt the class with these offerings). Years later I was reminded of Margaret during the famous “Twinkie Defense” – which Sean Penn has recently reacquainted me with.
I often wish I had been an actor instead of a teacher…