Having the "mean" teacher can sometimes be the best thing

 

The woman pictured above is Ruth Schwarzenberg, my teacher for both 2nd and 6th grades at Mapledale Elementary School.

Having a teacher twice in the elementary grades is probably not uncommon. But having the same teacher four years apart (especially after those highly transformative years between 2nd and 6th grade) likely is.

The first time I had Mrs. Schwarzenberg in 2nd grade was, quite frankly, a jarring experience. To that point, my school teachers had been easygoing women, both of whom were commonly described as "nice." Mrs. Janes (kindergarten) and Mrs. Lucci (1st grade) were big reasons why I had really grown to love school.

But then I got to 2nd grade with Mrs. Schwarzenberg, and let me tell you, the days of sunshine and roses ended in a hurry. Most kids described her as "mean," though in retrospect, she was really just strict.

And by that point (again, in retrospect), I needed a good dose of strict. I was used to getting top grades and being a high achiever, but somewhere along the way, you have to realize that you're not going to get rewarded and praised for absolutely everything.

And you have to be pushed to be even better.

Mrs. Schwarzenberg did that for me, but I didn't know how to deal with her at the time. I was honestly afraid of her, and it was a relief when I got sick and could stay home from school from time to time.

It was only later that I came to realize how much I learned in 2nd grade, and how much I gained in maturity that year. I would never have credited Mrs. Schwarzenberg with any of that, though now I do.

When I had her again in 6th grade, our relationship had changed. It felt like she wasn't as strict with us that year, but now I realize she probably was (maybe even more so). The difference was that I was older, at least a tad wiser, and much better positioned to engage with and learn from her.

For years I would tell people that Mrs. Schwarzenberg was better suited teaching older kids than younger ones, but now I think she was probably equally effective with both. I just hadn't encountered anything like her as a 7- and 8-year-old second-grader, and it took time to adjust.

You can only be the A+, never-get-in-trouble Golden Child for so long. Like I said, at some point, you need someone to push you to the next level.

And boy, did Mrs. Schwarzenberg push.

She passed away in 2012. The last time I talked with her was probably in 1988, my senior year of high school, when I performed with our jazz band for Wickliffe Elementary School students and she was still there teaching. I can't remember what I said to her, but I hope I thanked her for everything she had done for me.

Even at age 18 I realized the positive influence the "mean" teacher can have.

I simply cannot call my former teachers by their first names

I had forgotten the fact that virtually all of my male teachers in the 70s and 80s used to wear coats and ties to school every day.

Over the last couple of years, I've enjoyed writing a series of "Where Are They Now?" articles for my high school alumni association newsletter.

These pieces, as you might imagine, spotlight a retired teacher, administrator and/or coach who spent a significant number of years working within our school district.

I love connecting with these folks. Their stories are uniformly interesting to me, from the reasons they originally got into education to their favorite memories at Wickliffe to the things they've been doing since retirement.

I relish forming new and deeper connections with people who had such an impact on my life many years ago. I end up feeling much closer to them now than I ever could have as a student back in the 1980s.

That familiarity, however, only goes so far. More than once when I've gotten on the phone to interview them and said "Hello, Mrs. ______________!" I have been admonished to call them by their first names.

"You've been out of school for a long time now. Call me ___________________," is the type of thing they will say.

Each time, though, I politely refuse. I realize these former authority figures don't hold the same place in my life now as they did way back when, but I still admire each of them deeply. And to me, it will always be Mr./Mrs. Last Name and never, ever "Pat" or "Dan" or "Barbara" or "Bill" or whatever the case may be.

I just can't do it. I could no sooner be on a first-name basis with them as I could with the Pope.

I'll bet most people my age can identify with this feeling. I'm one to tell my kids' friends to call me by my first name, especially once they graduate, but there's a part of me that resists doing the same for my old teachers and coaches.

Call it deep respect, even reverence. I will always consider myself to be one or two notches lower than them in the hierarchy of adult relationships.

Which I think says something about the high esteem to which we should hold educators in our society.

The excitement of finding out who your teacher was going to be

When I attended Mapledale Elementary School back in the Bronze Age, we engaged in a particular early-September ritual that now brings back fond memories.

Mapledale was a K-6 school, and while in the later grades you started moving from room to room for different subjects, you still had one main teacher. Finding out who that teacher was going to be was exciting and even a little nerve-wracking.

The way this information was conveyed was that someone (I’m assuming the school secretary) would type up the class lists and literally tape them onto the windows at the front entrance. That would unleash a steady stream of kids on bikes who would pedal up to the school to find out to whom their education for the coming year had been entrusted.

I don’t remember doing this to learn that Mrs. Janes was my kindergarten teacher, but I vividly remember heading up to the school (it was just at the end of my street) to find out I had Mrs. Lucci for 1st grade, Mrs. Schwarzenberg for 2nd and 6th, Mr. Blauch for 3rd, and Mrs. Grabner for 4th and 5th.

Nowadays, at least here in Wickliffe, the process is a little different. You receive a packet of forms in the mail each August that includes a note from your teacher, and that's how you find out who she/he is. 

Even though we don’t have kids in elementary (or even middle) school anymore, I always enjoy reading the posts on the “We Love Wickliffe” Facebook page from parents asking “Who else’s child has Mrs. X?” It brings back great memories.

I don’t know that either the old or the new method is better, but I do miss that moment of excitement when you scanned those paper class lists and found your name. It meant school was right around the corner, and at least you knew something of what was in store for you.

Most of us have no business being anywhere near a classroom full of kids

My niece Mallory turns 30 today, which in itself is a time to step back and reflect on your own mortality. When your little baby niece is 30, that must mean you're...well, considerably older.

She is a third-grade teacher, which makes her a superhero in my book.

(It can be argued, by the way, that we as a society throw the "superhero" or just plain "hero" designation around a little too freely. But I count as a hero anyone who does a job society needs but that I would never in a million years take on. Soldiers, teachers, custodial staff, etc. Who's going to do their jobs? You? Me? No? Well, then, they're heroes.)

Anyway, she spends her days teaching often-unruly 8- and 9-year-olds, which even in the best of times isn't an easy task and has to be 10 times more difficult in this age of the pandemic.

I have been told I could and even should have been an educator.

I don't know what people base this on, but I am not nearly as tough, smart, or dedicated as the people for whom teaching is a calling.

Going into classrooms as a guest speaker, as I have done a number of times, is one thing.

Coming up with lesson plans and doing it day after day after day after day? That is quite another, thank you.

And trust me here: It ain't as if these folks are getting rich.

There is a small sliver of the population that has the brains and the mental and emotional disposition to teach. And to them I say, thank you for your service.

I would have given up within six months of taking the job.

Oh, and happy birthday, Mal!

Four things I remember vividly about elementary school

(1) The Smell
It wasn't a bad smell. It was just a smell that you can only experience inside a school. And for whatever reason, it generally can only be found inside an elementary school. Whenever I happen to be inside a school and I get a whiff of that whatever-it-is smell, I am instantly transported back in time to Mapledale Elementary School in the late 70s.

(2) The Chairs
As near as I can tell, all three elementary schools in Wickliffe at that time were stocked with the same hard chairs for students. They were different colors, but it was the same basic, functional 70s design. The grown-ups, meanwhile, got different chairs that were all this pinkish color. And their chairs were bigger because, you know, the adults were bigger.

(3) The Layout
Mapledale no longer exists. The building became a senior center the year after I "graduated" from sixth grade, and a few years ago it was torn down entirely to make way for new houses (or maybe they're condos?) But I can remember every nook and cranny of that school, because I experienced them all at one point or another. Are you like that with your old schools? I spent seven years there from kindergarten through sixth grade, so I guess it stands to reason that I got to know the place pretty well.

(4) The Teachers
In elementary school, you are of course assigned to one teacher. In the early grades, you are with that teacher virtually the entire day, with the exception of special classes like art, gym, music, etc. That teacher becomes a major influence in your life, which is why I will always hold a special place in my heart for Mrs. Janes, Mrs. Lucci, Mrs. Schwarzenberg, Mr. Blough and Mrs. Grabner. Two of them (Schwarzenberg and Grabner) I had twice. They taught me more than they could possibly know, and they whipped me into shape when they needed to. What a great and awesome responsibility you teachers have.