Jean Matua “From the Heart”
Last week was Teacher Appreciation Week. Because of the current situation with distance learning, and the cancelation of so many school events and rites of passage, it’s understandable that Teacher Appreciation Week would get a little lost in the shuffle. That does not diminish its importance, though!
No matter how you felt about your school years, most of us had at least one teacher who really made a difference in our lives. Some of us had several.
Most of my teachers had great impact on me and my interests, and most of them in a positive direction. One stands out, however, above all the rest. My sixth-grade teacher, Bette Jacobs. Sixth grade is such a crucial turning point anyway, but Mrs. Jacobs also was an understanding and patient teacher. Our class was made up of an urban mixture of students: from the upper crust who lived on Lake of the Isles, the middle class in Lowry Hill, and the working class closer to downtown and uptown Minneapolis. (The Mondales lived two or three blocks away from us, Eleanor was a playmate, and Joan was PTA president.)
Mrs. Jacobs gave us a wide berth when it came to education, as I now look back on it. There were three of us in the class who liked to rewrite lyrics to songs in order to fit our lesson plans. I only remember two of them. While studying the Mayan pyramids, I wrote “On top of a pyramid, all covered with hearts. The steps are all cluttered, with bodies and parts.” (to the tune of “On Top of Old Smokey); with lots of verses.
Some of my classmates had older brothers who were in Vietnam. I don’t recall studying that per se, but the three of us song re-writers took a popular song and changed the lyrics to reflect the futility of the war in Vietnam. I’ve got to wonder what those two guys are doing now. I do hope they are reasonably functional in society, as I believe I am. We were just a little morose back then. But those were very troubling times.
I absolutely loved school. We lived a half-block away from school when I was in sixth grade, and I loved to stay after school and help the teacher. (Back then, we had blackboards to clean and erasers to clap.) Even in the summer, I loved to play “school” with my younger sisters; they didn’t enjoy it quite as much as I did, as I recall.
Sixth grade is such a formative time anyway. We were so much more aware of our changing bodies, and of relationships with each other as well. It was as if the world was opening up to us, and we were tasked with finding our places in it. Talk about a daunting task! But, with the right direction from a great teacher, I have a hunch that we all made it pretty well through that awkward year and those that followed.
At the end of sixth grade, Mrs. Jacobs invited us all to her home on Lake Calhoun. That was almost magical! Unlike growing up in a small town, you almost never see your urban teachers outside of the classroom or the school grounds. To see where they actually live, and to be invited into that world, felt so special. I do remember swimming in the lake, and I’m sure we ate picnicky food, but it was that feeling of “magic” that is the most prominent memory of that special day.
These days, our teachers (and students and parents) have been stretched far beyond their training and expectations. This has been a temporary crisis inflicted on us all, and everyone has risen to the task well. It has been a big test, and it seems everyone has passed it. Kudos to all the teachers and administrators, and all the support staff who made the rest of this school year possible and, hopefully, fun.
As we look forward to the resumption of “normal” school in the fall, may we remember the impact each of these teachers make in the lives of our children. It only takes one teacher to make a life-long difference! And may we remember their extraordinary efforts every day (not just this spring) when it comes time for salary negotiations and funding our schools appropriately (starting with the state).