I walked home from the grocery store instead of taking the bus and I stopped by my old elementary school on the way.
School was already out, but the doors were still open for after-school activities, so I went in the office to ask someone if my teachers still worked here. No one was at the desk, so I looked around and found the board with all the pictures of the staff. Most of the teachers I knew from my time at the school were still here, as well as the janitor with the really long beard who said hello to me every morning. Both of my teachers married since then and have different names, but they look just the same.
I'm thinking of visiting them some day before they leave and bring them flowers.
They taught me both English and some of the strange ways of Americans.
I remember my first fumbles with the language (I can please go to bathroom?), my befuddlement at unfamiliar mathematical notations (Why is there Morse code in this equation? [it was a multiplication sign like this (•), not like this (x) as I expected]), my complete and utter incomprehension of even the most simple of directions (What does "HW" signify, and why do we have to write it in our planners?), and their surprise when I earned one of the few perfect scores on the first spelling test of the year and the confusion that ensued (Students could either complete a set of exercises or attempt to earn a perfect score on the spelling test each week to earn their way out of them. Mom was upset when she saw everyone but me hard at work on their worksheets and thought I had forgotten to take one. I of course had no idea what was going on).
They helped me through all of this, hour after extra hour spent after class, cheerfully and without complaining (or if they did, I didn't understand a word of it).
I am thankful for them both.
School was already out, but the doors were still open for after-school activities, so I went in the office to ask someone if my teachers still worked here. No one was at the desk, so I looked around and found the board with all the pictures of the staff. Most of the teachers I knew from my time at the school were still here, as well as the janitor with the really long beard who said hello to me every morning. Both of my teachers married since then and have different names, but they look just the same.
I'm thinking of visiting them some day before they leave and bring them flowers.
They taught me both English and some of the strange ways of Americans.
I remember my first fumbles with the language (I can please go to bathroom?), my befuddlement at unfamiliar mathematical notations (Why is there Morse code in this equation? [it was a multiplication sign like this (•), not like this (x) as I expected]), my complete and utter incomprehension of even the most simple of directions (What does "HW" signify, and why do we have to write it in our planners?), and their surprise when I earned one of the few perfect scores on the first spelling test of the year and the confusion that ensued (Students could either complete a set of exercises or attempt to earn a perfect score on the spelling test each week to earn their way out of them. Mom was upset when she saw everyone but me hard at work on their worksheets and thought I had forgotten to take one. I of course had no idea what was going on).
They helped me through all of this, hour after extra hour spent after class, cheerfully and without complaining (or if they did, I didn't understand a word of it).
I am thankful for them both.
1 comment:
How thoughtful. So rarely do we express our thanks adequately. I hope the teachers concerned realise the success and apreciation of their efforts.
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