| General Non-Fiction posted April 23, 2024 | Chapters: |
...9 10 -11- 
|
  |
My 5th grade teacher
A chapter in the book I-Teach
Mrs. W
by Liz O'Neill
Fifth grade was the year I had my favorite teacher who never belittled me or yelled at me. She only praised me and had a beautiful warm accepting smile. Something did happen that year, that took me a long time to get over, possibly, because everything else was so perfect about Mrs. W. I had a booklet which looked like a comic book with information regarding some particular animals.
My favorite was the camel, a survivor of harsh conditions. I identified with it and was comforted to study the coping equipment: padded feet, an extra transparent eyelid, and a storage hump for water. When I was feeling especially vulnerable, all I had to do was turn to that page and I felt better.
I brought it to school one day and let Trudy look at it. For some reason, Mrs. W. was not as enamored with Trudy as she was with me and when she caught Trudy with my comic book she took it away from her. When she threw it into the wastebasket, I tried to explain to Mrs. W. that it wasn’t a comic book and that I needed it.
This is the part that hurt for a long time. My favorite teacher of all time snapped, "You shouldn’t have brought it to school." All...day...long...I had to sit in the classroom knowing that one of my comforts was in the wastebasket and I’d return the following day and it would be gone for good, somewhere outside in a nasty garbage bin. This saddened me deeply.
Since being a teacher and finding myself doing some of the same things, I have understood Mrs. W. and even wrote a poem about her kindnesses. A few years before Mrs. W. died, I was able to present the poem to her in person. I had to work on understanding and letting go of the deep hurt before I could visit her.
Despite that incident, she was the first nurturing individual in my childhood, except Timmy's mom who was a little humorously gruff but loving.
I love to draw. I still have my first scrapbook of artwork from when I was eight. I've posted it on Facebook so it'll be safe there. It was one of my ways of coping. When Mrs W. gave us a reading assignment to draw an idea from a specific story, I drew a picture of an elephant with a tiger wrapped in its trunk.
Mrs. W. made sure she showed it to the class with great praise for my talent and every class thereafter. For at least 2 or 3 years later, kids were coming to tell me that they’d seen my drawing of the tiger with the elephant’s trunk wrapped around it.
Below is the poem I have mentioned:
My Memory
Her name came up
In conversation
Mrs. W.
I began to draw
In my heart
My memory of her
I drew my memory
of her face of kindness
of her heart of gentleness
of her voice of comfort
I quickly turned to
Another page
I began to sketch
Her standing there
In front of us
Her fifth grade
Teaching us
Not just
How to read
How to do arithmetic
How to express ourselves
But standing there
teaching us
who we can become
with the gifts within us
I turned to
another page
And without need of thought
I drew her
Revealing these gifts
to me
that I knew not of
which lay deep within
my being
To be discovered
at another time
in another season
The next sketch
was me-now
looking deeply
into that gift
at the seed
Of that gift
which she
so long ago
began to nurture
My last sketch
in this book
of my memory
Was of me
Giving to Mrs. W.
a blossom
from that gift
Many years ago I read a wonderful book that inspired me to write my poem. The book was by Daniel Quinn called Ishmael. In this story Ishmael is constantly sketching his mother, In what she's doing she's standing by the window she's over by the table She's different place. I wanted to do something like that for Mrs W. verbally sketching her doing different things. I hope you enjoy my unique approach..
Pays 10 points and 57 member cents.
Fifth grade was the year I had my favorite teacher who never belittled me or yelled at me. She only praised me and had a beautiful warm accepting smile. Something did happen that year, that took me a long time to get over, possibly, because everything else was so perfect about Mrs. W. I had a booklet which looked like a comic book with information regarding some particular animals.
My favorite was the camel, a survivor of harsh conditions. I identified with it and was comforted to study the coping equipment: padded feet, an extra transparent eyelid, and a storage hump for water. When I was feeling especially vulnerable, all I had to do was turn to that page and I felt better.
I brought it to school one day and let Trudy look at it. For some reason, Mrs. W. was not as enamored with Trudy as she was with me and when she caught Trudy with my comic book she took it away from her. When she threw it into the wastebasket, I tried to explain to Mrs. W. that it wasn’t a comic book and that I needed it.
This is the part that hurt for a long time. My favorite teacher of all time snapped, "You shouldn’t have brought it to school." All...day...long...I had to sit in the classroom knowing that one of my comforts was in the wastebasket and I’d return the following day and it would be gone for good, somewhere outside in a nasty garbage bin. This saddened me deeply.
Since being a teacher and finding myself doing some of the same things, I have understood Mrs. W. and even wrote a poem about her kindnesses. A few years before Mrs. W. died, I was able to present the poem to her in person. I had to work on understanding and letting go of the deep hurt before I could visit her.
Despite that incident, she was the first nurturing individual in my childhood, except Timmy's mom who was a little humorously gruff but loving.
I love to draw. I still have my first scrapbook of artwork from when I was eight. I've posted it on Facebook so it'll be safe there. It was one of my ways of coping. When Mrs W. gave us a reading assignment to draw an idea from a specific story, I drew a picture of an elephant with a tiger wrapped in its trunk.
Mrs. W. made sure she showed it to the class with great praise for my talent and every class thereafter. For at least 2 or 3 years later, kids were coming to tell me that they’d seen my drawing of the tiger with the elephant’s trunk wrapped around it.
Below is the poem I have mentioned:
Below is the poem I have mentioned:
My Memory
Her name came up
In conversation
In conversation
Mrs. W.
I began to draw
In my heart
My memory of her
I drew my memory
of her face of kindness
of her face of kindness
of her heart of gentleness
of her voice of comfort
I quickly turned to
Another page
I began to sketch
Her standing there
In front of us
Her fifth grade
Teaching us
Not just
How to read
How to do arithmetic
How to express ourselves
But standing there
teaching us
who we can become
with the gifts within us
I turned to
another page
And without need of thought
I drew her
Revealing these gifts
to me
that I knew not of
which lay deep within
my being
To be discovered
at another time
in another season
The next sketch
was me-now
looking deeply
into that gift
at the seed
Of that gift
which she
so long ago
began to nurture
My last sketch
in this book
of my memory
Was of me
Giving to Mrs. W.
a blossom
from that gift
Many years ago I read a wonderful book that inspired me to write my poem. The book was by Daniel Quinn called Ishmael. In this story Ishmael is constantly sketching his mother, In what she's doing she's standing by the window she's over by the table She's different place. I wanted to do something like that for Mrs W. verbally sketching her doing different things. I hope you enjoy my unique approach..
Pays 10 points and 57 member cents.
Many years ago I read a wonderful book that inspired me to write my poem. The book was by Daniel Quinn called Ishmael. In this story Ishmael is constantly sketching his mother, In what she's doing she's standing by the window she's over by the table She's different place. I wanted to do something like that for Mrs W. verbally sketching her doing different things. I hope you enjoy my unique approach.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
Multi-Author Book
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Liz O'Neill All rights reserved.
Liz O'Neill has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
