Amazing Teachers

Amazing Teachers

A couple of days ago my friend wrote about an student that he is helping. I thought it was a wonderful story. It got me thinking about some of the really great teachers that I had way back when.

There were two that really stand. The first was a high school teacher. I couldn't (still can't) spell. Part of my problem is that I can't do phonics. My brain and my ears just don't hear things the way they should. If fact, I'm so bad at it that when I was given one-on-one tutoring by a woman who won the national spelling bee... at the end of the school year neither of us could spell a thing.

But despite the fact I think it was perfectly obvious that I had a real problem -- I was labeled as selectively lazy. In other words, I couldn't spell because I didn't like spelling. If I liked spelling as much as I liked history and English and social studies -- I would be able to spell fine. After all whenever spelling didn't count on a test I did great. I just couldn't spell. I also had some problems with math -- because the order in which numbers appear is really important. I had all the concepts down fine. I just couldn't do arithmetic. Again because I was selectively lazy.

So, I fumbled and bumbled my way through school. If the teachers only knew how much time I spent struggling with spelling and arithmetic... In high school I had my parents proof read all my papers several times over. I went to high school before word processors. I had to type all my papers on my dad's college, non-electric, type-writer. A big metal thing that didn't even have a strip of white-out tape for back-space corrections. (Remember that... when you had to back space, switch the type writer to the white-out strip and re-type the word to white it out. I was lucky enough to get one of those for college. The originals looked good, but boy were my carbon copies a mess... but I digress.)

So at the end of my junior year of high school I took a semester of sociology. We had an assignment to write the history of our lives and then analyze it using the sociological tools we had learned in class. Being that I was a more than average angst ridden teenager, there was no way in hell I would allow my parents to proof read that paper. I felt stuck between a rock and hard place. I couldn't turn in a paper with my spelling -- but I didn't know who could proof it for me.

Thankfully I had the good sense to take this problem to the teacher. He agreed to proof it for me. As he read the paper and saw my spelling in all hideous glory -- it slowly dawned on him that the issue might be something more than laziness. He took on the school administration and forced them to test me for learning disabilities. This turned out to be a big fight. The administration didn't want to test me because I had already been labeled lazy, I was almost a senior and out of their hair, and they felt even if they found something it was too late to do anything anyway. The teacher pointed out that I was planning to go to college and it would help me to have the correct label in my files. He didn't give up and in during my senior year I was finally tested and correctly diagnosed. I tell people that I have dyslexia because people understand that... actually I have some other learning disability that has about twenty-seven words in the name and I can't remember it anyway. But a lot of the symptoms look like dyslexia -- so I go with that.

After the tests were complete, the parting words from my high school guidance councilor -- Be sure to tell your college professors up front that you have this issue. Ha! If I'd only listened...

First semester of my freshman year in college I signed up for philosophy 101. By the luck of the draw I got the best professor! He was funny, intelligent, kept the class engaged, and he was kinda good looking, too. The words of my high school guidance counselor were echoing in my head... but there never seemed to be a good time to tell the professor. Frankly, I didn't want to be seen as trying to get special privileges or something stupid like that. So, I never told Dr. Morsink (or any of my professors) about my issues.

Mid-terms suddenly fell upon me as if out of no where. But, after I finished my philosophy exam, I felt really good about it. I was sure I would get a good grade. When the blue books were returned to us I opened the exam to see a big "F" written in pencil with the words, "See me!" I was in total shock. I had NEVER failed a test before (well if you don't count spelling tests). Then I looked closer. He had originally given me an "A", but erased it and put the "F" on top of it.

During his next office hours, I meekly showed up at his door with my blue book in hand. I had never really challenged a professor before, but I had to ask him why he gave me an "A" and changed it to an "F". I wanted to go in there strong and forceful and demand my "A". But instead I was hunched over, fearful, with my mouth so dry I could barely speak. "Why did you change it?" I finally wispered as I thrust the blue book forward.

He took it and looked it over for a second. "Frankly, I can't in good consciousness give a college freshman who spells like you anything higher than an 'F'."

I slumped in the chair next to his desk. I should have told him in the beginning, I lamented to myself. Now, I was going to sound like I was making excuses... but I had no choice. I told him the whole story about how I had to fight to get tested and then the school didn't do anything because there was less than a year left...

He looked at the blue book for a couple of minutes. "If I go check your official records will it confirm this?" I nodded my head yes. He was quiet for a few more minutes. Then he said, "Well there is only one thing to do. You have to see my friend who specializes in treating learning disabilities." We discussed this possibility for a while. But then it came up that she charged $50.00 per hour. I was just getting by. I didn't have a spare nickel let alone fifty bucks!

Then my professor did something I'll never forget... he said he would pay the fee for the first consultation. If his friend thought she could help me, he said we'd figure out some way to pay for it. I couldn't believe it!

I went to see his friend and she said because of my age and the number of years that I had been building up defensive mechanism, she didn't think she could help me much... so that was the end of that. But I couldn't believe my professor took the time and the interest to help me as much as he did.

And that's not the end of the story. I saw Dr. Morsink a few years ago -- twenty-some years after I graduated from college. I ran into at a totally unexpected place no where near the college campus. I struck up a conversation with him... do he remember me, I had to know. After a few seconds you could see the light bulb go off in his head. He did remember me. But he remembered me because of an argument I made in one of his upper level classes. He said that I had blown him away with that discussion. (I'm not bragging here, because I'm really not that smart. I think I just had a lucky day or something.)

Once he remembered me our conversation got more intimate and we talked about what was going on in my life, and his life, and the life of the school. It was nice to reconnect with him.

As I was walking away from the conversation it dawned on me that he didn't seem to even remember how much he helped me my freshman year. It was as if helping people was so second nature, it didn't stand out in his mind. In a funny way, that made him seem all the more special.

Thanks to all the special teachers that touched my life... Dr. Morsink, Mr. Tamboro, Mrs. Price, Miss Anderson... and all the others. Teaching may seem thankless... but I remember you!