Henry Piarrot
April 14th, 2009, 1:35 am
As the strange creatures humans tend to be, we do not always recognize a gift when we are receiving it, especially one that will change our lives forever.
I am the first born of a single mom, arriving almost 4 years before my younger brother. While my mother worked, I stayed home with my grandmother. She did everything for Toby and me. Aside from the standard duties of cooking, cleaning and laundry, my grandma spent hours every day reading to me. Before long, Dr. Seuss and Dick and Jane evolved into Mark Twain and Sherlock Holmes.
When my younger brother was born, it became my job to read to him. Consequently, by the time I was old enough for school, instead of children’s books, I was reading novels. The first grown up book I can remember reading was The Red badge of Courage by Stephen Crane. Needless to say, the nuns at St. Anthony’s were so impressed that I skipped kindergarten and went straight to first grade, where I was summarily reintroduced to Dick and Jane.
I lost my precious Grandma the next year when I was only 6. But, before she passed, she gave me the gift of reading. Because I could read, I was never alone, nor did spend much time chasing the achievers in my classroom.
Later on, when I showed up for the first day of 6th grade, I met Mrs. Becker, my first drill sergeant in the person of my new English teacher. She was tough, frank and no-nonsense. Because my school days were prior to the age of personal computers, I can print like a typewriter today because she insisted that anytime we did not submit our absolute best work, we were insulting our parents, grandparents and all those in our families born before us. When a report was not perfectly presented, she would give it back to be rewritten before she would even begin to grade the assignment. If the paper did not first look like you took the time to make a credible presentation, she simply would not take the time to read it.
We were all happy to see 6th grade come to a merciful end and were confident that our dark days were now behind us. However, that feeling of relief quickly subsided when on the first day of 7th grade we all found ourselves right back in Mrs. Becker’s classroom. After reassuring us that we did pass her last class, she explained that she did not believe she could help us succeed by taking her class only once. If you were fortunate enough to be in her class for 6th grade, you would also be in her class for the next two years. Once we are off to high school, she would go back to 6th grade and start over with another group. At the time, she was the only one in the room who found that to be a good idea.
The years passed and I grew to be a husband and father. Then, one seemingly ordinary day the hotel I was working for hosted a teachers’ conference. Midway through the morning session, I spotted Mrs. Becker sitting not far from the podium. Realizing the years teach what days rarely do, I found that I had developed affection for my former task master.
When the group broke for lunch, I was careful not to let her see me in case she might recognize her now grown student. When they were safely away in the banquet room, I tore off about 15 feet of computer paper and taped a personal welcome for my English teacher on the wall high above the podium.
Hiding just inside the storeroom door when the teachers entered the room for their afternoon session, I could hardly contain myself as I watched the group’s response to my hand made banner proclaiming “Mrs. Becker Learned Me English.” Her reaction to my anonymous prank and the attention she received from the attendees was priceless. When I stepped from behind the door, she recognized me instantly and after assuring me that my personal safety was only insured by the great number of witnesses present, she embraced me as though we were old friends. Recalling how hard I used to work for a simple morsel of approval from her when I was her student, made for a very special moment in my life. We agreed to keep in touch, but it was the last time I would ever see her.
Mrs. Becker’s high standards and expectations of her students were not necessarily conducive to making friends, but they were effective in grooming willing young men and women for life in an unforgiving world. While my Grandma’s gift was that she prepared me to learn, Mrs. Becker’s gift was that she taught me to prepare. The fact that I did not notice the benefit of either exercise at the time makes neither any less life changing.
I am the first born of a single mom, arriving almost 4 years before my younger brother. While my mother worked, I stayed home with my grandmother. She did everything for Toby and me. Aside from the standard duties of cooking, cleaning and laundry, my grandma spent hours every day reading to me. Before long, Dr. Seuss and Dick and Jane evolved into Mark Twain and Sherlock Holmes.
When my younger brother was born, it became my job to read to him. Consequently, by the time I was old enough for school, instead of children’s books, I was reading novels. The first grown up book I can remember reading was The Red badge of Courage by Stephen Crane. Needless to say, the nuns at St. Anthony’s were so impressed that I skipped kindergarten and went straight to first grade, where I was summarily reintroduced to Dick and Jane.
I lost my precious Grandma the next year when I was only 6. But, before she passed, she gave me the gift of reading. Because I could read, I was never alone, nor did spend much time chasing the achievers in my classroom.
Later on, when I showed up for the first day of 6th grade, I met Mrs. Becker, my first drill sergeant in the person of my new English teacher. She was tough, frank and no-nonsense. Because my school days were prior to the age of personal computers, I can print like a typewriter today because she insisted that anytime we did not submit our absolute best work, we were insulting our parents, grandparents and all those in our families born before us. When a report was not perfectly presented, she would give it back to be rewritten before she would even begin to grade the assignment. If the paper did not first look like you took the time to make a credible presentation, she simply would not take the time to read it.
We were all happy to see 6th grade come to a merciful end and were confident that our dark days were now behind us. However, that feeling of relief quickly subsided when on the first day of 7th grade we all found ourselves right back in Mrs. Becker’s classroom. After reassuring us that we did pass her last class, she explained that she did not believe she could help us succeed by taking her class only once. If you were fortunate enough to be in her class for 6th grade, you would also be in her class for the next two years. Once we are off to high school, she would go back to 6th grade and start over with another group. At the time, she was the only one in the room who found that to be a good idea.
The years passed and I grew to be a husband and father. Then, one seemingly ordinary day the hotel I was working for hosted a teachers’ conference. Midway through the morning session, I spotted Mrs. Becker sitting not far from the podium. Realizing the years teach what days rarely do, I found that I had developed affection for my former task master.
When the group broke for lunch, I was careful not to let her see me in case she might recognize her now grown student. When they were safely away in the banquet room, I tore off about 15 feet of computer paper and taped a personal welcome for my English teacher on the wall high above the podium.
Hiding just inside the storeroom door when the teachers entered the room for their afternoon session, I could hardly contain myself as I watched the group’s response to my hand made banner proclaiming “Mrs. Becker Learned Me English.” Her reaction to my anonymous prank and the attention she received from the attendees was priceless. When I stepped from behind the door, she recognized me instantly and after assuring me that my personal safety was only insured by the great number of witnesses present, she embraced me as though we were old friends. Recalling how hard I used to work for a simple morsel of approval from her when I was her student, made for a very special moment in my life. We agreed to keep in touch, but it was the last time I would ever see her.
Mrs. Becker’s high standards and expectations of her students were not necessarily conducive to making friends, but they were effective in grooming willing young men and women for life in an unforgiving world. While my Grandma’s gift was that she prepared me to learn, Mrs. Becker’s gift was that she taught me to prepare. The fact that I did not notice the benefit of either exercise at the time makes neither any less life changing.