Chicken Soup for the Soul Celebrates Teachers (7 page)

The school year ended with a traditional second-grade program where children honor their mothers. The festivities ended with each student coming before the audience and announcing in a loud, clear voice,“I love my mother because. . . .” The student then found his or her mother in the audience and handed her a single flower.

I was sitting there with tears streaming down my cheeks, not only because it was so sweet, but silently grieving because Mimi would never be able to tell me with words why she loved me. At that moment in my life, I was probably between denial and acceptance over her disability, and that added to the emotion of the event.

As it turned out, Mimi was saved for last.

Mrs. Keeling wheeled her to the front and—in a very natural way—announced why Mimi loved her mother and then handed me a flower. You know, I don't remember the exact words Mrs. Keeling spoke. I'm sure the renewed gush of tears must have affected my hearing. It was then that I realized Mimi tells me many times every day why she loves me. She has simply replaced the words with two thin arms gripped tightly around my neck.

Over the next three years while Mimi attended the elementary school, I came to know many other wonderful young students who reached out to our daughter. They assisted her with lunch, helped her play tetherball on the playground and came into the special education room to play board games.

It wasn't long before everywhere our family went in the community, Mimi had a school buddy coming up to give her a hug.

My husband would often ask, “Who was that?” And I'd just smile and say, “I'm not sure about that one. Must be one of her friends from Mrs. Keeling's class.”

Dixie Frantz

PETALS OF THANKS

O
ne of the most difficult realities about the teaching profession is that we seldom know if we have made a difference. When I become frustrated with my job, my students or myself, I often think back to one particular day of my teaching career.

My first year of teaching was almost over. I taught junior English at Milford High School on a one-year temporary contract, and I worried that I would not be able to find a job the following school year. However, I had a bright and conscientious group of students that year, and I was grateful for that. I made it clear to them that they were special to me and that I would never forget them, my very first students. However, as the end of the school year drew to a close, my students continually asked if the regular teacher would be returning. I answered professionally that, of course, she would be back next year as planned. I tried to respond with little emotion, regardless of their reaction. Deep down, though, I was more bothered by leaving than I admitted.

Inevitably, the day came to give my last final exam. The exam was to begin at the start of school and last the whole morning. I passed the office before the bell rang and saw a couple of the students from my class, and I thought how difficult saying good-bye would be. Theirs was a group with whom I could joke, have fun, share ideas and be serious, all within one class period. Teaching them was a pleasure, and we all had learned a lot that year. But, as successful students do, they were moving on to twelfth grade, and I doubted they would remember much about me after a few more years of their academic careers and busy lives.

Just about this time I was on hall duty outside my classroom, and I noticed the crowds thinning out and classroom doors shutting. I looked in my room to find only two students in attendance. When I commented that it was awfully strange that their classmates were so late, they agreed and then quickly asked to get a drink from the water fountain. Naturally, I allowed them to go since I still needed to wait for the majority of my class to arrive. I looked at my watch and was upset when I noticed the time. A teacher across the hall asked, “Aren't your students there yet?” When I relayed the situation, he shrugged his shoulders and went back into his own classroom. The hallway was awfully quiet, and I was eager to give that final exam. I walked down the hall several times—to no avail—to see if anyone was coming. My stomach was turning when I thought about what could have happened.
Was there an assembly I had forgotten about? Were
they watching a fight somewhere that none of the teachers could
hear? Did I have the right exam time?

Before I could run back in my classroom to check the schedule, I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I was annoyed that after such a great year with these kids, I would—on their last day with me—have to give them a lecture about responsibility. I sighed and then observed how peaceful the steps were coming toward me. There was no commonly heard loud conversation or resounding laughter. As they rounded the corner and came into sight, the kids were in single file, “shushing” each other with their hands behind their backs. They looked at me with purpose, and then, as they turned to enter my classroom, the first student handed me a single rose. And then the next student did the same. And then the next, and the next, until each student walked into my classroom for the last time. Attached to each long-stemmed rose was a personal message and the signature of that student. Messages said things like: “Thank you for teaching me so much this year,” “I'll miss you,” and “You're the greatest.” The roses were all different colors: red, yellow, pink and white hues. I was having trouble holding so many individual flowers, but the last student silently offered me a large basket and a card signed, “With love from your fifth-period class,” and then she went into the room.

I stood alone outside my classroom and tried to wipe the tears from my face. I had to express to them how touched I was by this wonderful gesture, but I did not want to cry in front of my students. It took me several minutes to compose myself. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath, walked in my room and put the basket of roses on my desk without looking at any of them. I knew they were waiting for my reaction, but I also knew that if I tried to say anything, I would not be able to hide my emotions.

At last, out of the silence came a meek voice, “Are you mad at us, Miss Spengler?” With that, I looked up at my class and surrendered to the tears streaming down my flushed cheeks. My students bounded from their desks and surrounded me with hugs and praise as I tried to voice my thanks through the sobs.

When I catch myself thinking that teaching is a thankless profession, I recall those students and their roses. Though they gave their gratitude in silence, that “thank you” was the loudest and best I have ever received.

Kristin Spengler Zerbe

CONTRIBUTORS

Mike Ashton
received his elementary education degree from Arizona State University West in 1998. Mike enjoys spending time with his wife and kids, playing softball, writing, reading and the outdoors. He teaches sixth grade in Magna, Utah. Please reach him at:
mike.ashton@
granite.k12.ut.us
or
[email protected].

R. Lynn Baker
has a degree in education and several years of teaching experience. She is a freelance writer and has had work published in devotionals and inspirational books. Lynn lives in Georgetown, Kentucky, with her husband, Andrew, and their two sons, Thomas and Tyler. Please reach her at:
[email protected].

Dixie Frantz
has written a humorous newspaper column for the past seven years about raising a family in the suburbs. Her column appears in six newspapers in the Houston,Texas area. Dixie enjoys writing, quilting, photography and traveling. Please reach her at
dixielaugh@
kingwoodcable.net.

Steve Goodier
is a frequent workshop leader, public speaker, personal coach, business owner, Internet publisher, author of numerous books on inspiration and personal growth, and a church minister. Steve publishes
Your Life Support System,
a daily electronic newsletter of hope and inspiration with worldwide distribution. His numerous books can be found at
www.LifeSupportSystem.com
as well as information about his newsletter, speaking engagements and personal coaching. You can also contact him at (877) 344-0989.

Julia Graff
received a bachelor of arts in English, with honors, from California State University, Sacramento. She holds teaching credentials in both elementary and secondary education. She is a teacher and freelance writer. Her hobbies include traveling and collecting antiques. Her e-mail address is:
[email protected].

Sara Henderson
received her bachelor of arts from Illinois Wesleyan University and master of education from Bethel College in St. Paul, Minnesota. Sara taught elementary students for sixteen years and is currently serving as the elementary principal at Maranatha Christian Academy in Minneapolis, Minnesota.