Miss Lor

"Miss Lor, what's your first name?"

"Miss."

Laughs, "That ain't your first name!"

I smiled in return; that was all I was giving them.  On day two of teaching summer school English, I thought my head was going to explode.  We had spent the past two days giving them assessments.  There were reading comprehension assessments, differentiated assessments, math assessments, bio assessments, every test known to man and child had been given out in those first two days.  The students were antsy, bored, and, most of all, hot.  We had jam-packed the classroom with desks in anticipation of 38 students.  By Tuesday the number had whittled down to a mere 20, but still... I don't know what I would have done if all 38 students would have shown up that first day.

There's something very apparent about my students.  By day two I had come to the conclusion that a brain smart enough to talk back is a brain smart enough to read.  So why didn't these kids know how to read?

Even as I type the word kids, I cringe.

When I was in the 8th grade I was blessed with the best English teacher in the world.

Mr. W was the first to demand 10 page book reports that required in-depth character analysis and vocabulary comprehension.  Not only were these book reports an integral part of our grade, but he required they be typed or written with a fountain pen.  A fountain pen?!  What was this, the 17th century?  Bolder students tested his resolve by using roller-balls and gel pens, but Mr. W always knew the difference and it was reflected in our scores.

When the boys came to school with their sagging jeans, Mr. W raised one beguiling eyebrow and succinctly suggested they pull their pants up, lest they desire him to bring out the duct tape.

Mr. W taught us the beauty in diagramming a sentence.  He introduced us to the eloquent and tragic world of Shakespeare.  He orchestrated the yearly school musical and patiently directed us through the frenzy of square dance and enunciation.  Most importantly, Mr. W taught us to always hold ourselves to high standards.  To this day I can recall that to use the word kids refers to baby goats, and the word that we really want to use is children.

If you asked him "Can I go to the bathroom?",  he would reply, "I don't know, can you?".  The proper question was always "May I go to the bathroom?".

As I went through the notions of being trained to be an English teacher, I couldn't help but think of Mr. W.

I think about all of the exceptional educators I've had the pleasure of learning from.  All of these teachers who weren't afraid to set the bar high.

Ultimately, my fear as a teacher is that my students will be paralyzed by their own fear of not reaching that bar.

My students, who are incredibly smart and beautiful.  They're so full of sass that sometimes I have to check myself so they don't see me laughing at the hilarious things they do or say.

My students will reach that bar.