I was blessed, throughout my childhood, with wonderful teachers. I was a little oddball with a big (often antiquated) vocabulary and even bigger, very pink eyeglasses. Teachers taught me, saw me, lifted me, shielded me on occasion, and pushed me.
In second grade, a bigger boy, a ringleader and a mischief-maker, pushed me off the bench I was sitting on, while reading. He laughed at me and threw my book into the scratch bushes. I pushed him back and, to my surprise, he hit the ground. He jumped up, red-faced, fists flying. A teacher separated us. I was sent to cool my heels outside the principal’s office.
Mrs. McC: Here you are.
Me: Yes.
Mrs.McC: What happened?
Me: Jimmy hit me. I was reading on the bench and he pushed me off. He threw my book in the bushes.
Mrs.McC: Did he now? What did you do?
Me: I knocked him down.
Mrs.McC: Ah. Well, there we are, then. Back to class you go.
I head for the door and she says, quietly: “Quite right.”
I would have saluted her, if I’d known how.
I am not much of a teacher (not bad, but not gifted) but I stand on her shoulders, and on Dr. Hoerger’s (Be kind and don’t back down.), Mr. Gelman’s (Art is hard work. Then, it becomes magic.) and Mrs. Attanas’ (Do try to learn math and if you just can’t- keep reading!).
I thank them, and praise them. Their words, like their memories, are a blessing.
Amy Bloom is the author, most recently, of the best-selling memoir, In Love. She is the Director of the Shapiro Center for Writing at Wesleyan University. www.amybloom.com
