Randolph County Enterprise.
By Mary Jean Wright.
A teacher is a composite of many things and many professions.
Through the first three grades a teacher must be a substitute mother, along with a doctor, a banker, a playmate, a zoologist, a biologist, a collaborator of Webster's dictionary and a jack-of-all-trades. She must kiss away little hurts, apply brightly colored bandages, administer cough medicine and vitamin pills, check on temperatures, wipe runny noses and sooth hurt feelings. She must seem genuinely thrilled with a white rat, a slimy toad or a hitherto unknown hairy creature of the insect world as she is with a cuddly kitten or a fuzzy baby bunny. She must console herself with the fact that pile upon pile of brightly colored leaves and odd shaped pebbles must have a place in the schoolroom and not in the wastebasket.
She must make each little girl feel that her doll is the prettiest and each little boy believe that his gun shoots the straightest. She must keep money straight for school books, cafeteria and morning milk, not to mention giving each child a receipt, the correct change, and seeing that the milk money is not held back for candy treats at recess. She must divide herself equally between some 35 children and make each child feel that he or she is something important and really has top rung on teachers ladder of love, and at the same time instill in each little mind that they must share and give and take delight in others joys. And somewhere in all this she must find time to teach.
Then at the end of the year she must close her mind and her heart quietly and send these little ones whom she has been so close to for nine months, out of her grade and her life and be content with memories of sincere displays of childish affection and the light of love and appreciation in their small round faces the day when they could march home to tell mother C-A-T spells cat, or they can read a whole story in their new reader without a mistake, or today they learned to multiply by "2's."
From the fourth grade through junior high, teacher must above all be a "pal." For these are the years of boy friends, girl friends, and best friends, when each child has the most wonderful secrets that can only be shared with a bosom pal. These are also the impressionable years when teachers looks and actions may be more remembered and discussed than her lessons. Her comment on Janie's new dress or Kathy's hairdo, or Johnny's basketball skill can bring about much more scholastical attention than any plea or comment. And a quiet threat of a verbal lashing in front of Patty's boyfriend or Billy's teammate brings much more discipline than a sound paddling in the privacy of the principal's office. Here backwardness must be handled firmly and bulliness dealt with sternly, hidden talent must be recognized and displayed while unfavorable traits are discouraged and undermined, praise and reward must be given freely and yet the feeling instilled that goodness brings its own benefits, and punishment and discipline administered with such tact that the child knows his actions must not be repeated, not for fear of the consequence but because it is wrong to do so.
And here too, at the end of the year, teacher must dispel the thought of how pleasant it would be to have Mary with her pert pony tail and quiet sincere appreciation with her for another year, or how much fun it had been observing and contesting with Mickie's unquenchable fervor for life and laughter, and send these children with their new found knowledge out of her class and her life into the mysteries of high school.
Maybe Jimmy's mother thinks it is alright for him to drive the family car to school and run an errand in his free time, but teacher feels Jimmy should spend his free period boning up for a History test. Or maybe teacher feels it is alright to send Betty to the bank or post office since she has completed her studies but Mrs. Smith thinks it's disgusting to see students "running all over town" during school hours. Every parent wants their boy on the first five of the basketball team and their girl to sing the soprano solo in the chorus.
To each parent their child is the most wonderful, and each high school teacher must be enough of a psychologist to preserve that feeling in the parents, enough lawyer to present his case so the student will accept and retain it in spite of themselves, and enough doctor to listen to the ills of the town and try to prescribe a remedy that will cure if not all of them, at least the most urgent, and still uphold the codes of his own profession and the welfare of the school.
And then to the high school teacher comes the trials and tribulations of "young love." Where Barbara just had to set next to Bob last week, this week she simply cannot stand another session next to that bore. David will not share his reference book with Steve because someone told him that someone told them that someone saw Steve's bike in front of his girlfriend's house last night. Sue will not collaborate with Roberta on a term paper because she deliberately set about to vamp her boyfriend. And John cannot play first trumpet in the Band because Alice wants him to set with her at the ballgame.
To gain the respect of the young generation, a high school teacher must be cool, keen, crazy, solid or the most, depending on the current trend, but never square, boney, a creep, or for the birds. He must accept gangs, clubs and clicks, yet strive to keep them in their right perspective. He must recognize the whims, phases and fashion because they are a constant companion of the very young, and from them struggle to build the ideas and ideals of the young adult.
And sometimes it must seem pretty useless and frustrating to spend so much of one's self, time and energy for seemingly so little appreciation and results. But when his efforts are climaxed by a row of polished, sincere, intelligent young men and women clad in graduation caps and gowns, attentively and almost reverently filing forward to accept their diplomas and acknowledge the pride and praise of their family and friends, it must, after all, seem pretty worthwhile.
And then the class fidget who could think of nothing but hotrods, requests his credits be transferred to a fine engineering college, or the shy little girl who lost half a credit because of her reluctance to recite, quietly announces she is entering nursing school, or the one child that you felt you just never quite got through to, proclaims a desire to be a teacher, then the high school teacher reaps his harvest.
Was there ever a teacher who at some time could not proudly proclaim "I knew them: He was in my class; She was one of my students; I was their teacher. October, 1957. 61 years ago.
( Being a Morton 1st grader, Class of 1948, I can relate to most of the period she tells about. Anyone else remember Morton Elementary? Regardless of what the rich folks on the south side of the tracks said about us, Morton was the best school on the planet. Bar none!. Why we owned "Morton Hill" didn't we? Even today, after a good snow, that's the place to be. If my memory is correct, I think we even let some of those "prissy" kids from Willard use it. If they were nice.
We had the "Island," and the baseball diamond at the south end of the school lot by Short St. Pick-up ball games there most days. The bridges over Short St. and 4th St. where we fished for crawdads and shiners with doughballs. We could wade Salt Creek from the Railroad to White River. The "Frog Pond." Who remembers the "Frog Pond" across the street from the Phi Delts building on Residence St. Morton days were good days. Mick.)
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