Teacher's Pets

 

Look not every man on his own things,

but every man also on the things of others.

— Philippians 2:4

 

            Bet I know what Mrs. Johnson did on the last day of second grade - lit a candle, clicked her heels and dived into a double vodka martini. We were a handful, and I was the Ringleader of Chaos. That year, I had the feeling that I was "teacher's pet." Turns out everybody ELSE thought so, too.

 

There was that the time I put a quarter down on the sidewalk by the playground, hid behind the bushes with a rag, and then when a certain heroically-proportioned teacher bent over to pick up the quarter, I tore the rag - RRRRRRRRIP!!!!!! - so that she thought it was her skirt. The other kids howled with laughter.

 

Mrs. Johnson, who was kind and good but also firm and fair, knew what was best for me. She sent me straight to the principal's office, to face Mr. Dunn and the vaunted Spanking Machine. Mr. Dunn, who knew my older sister and brother were angelic, and that home and school were in a brain trust together to keep me from slipping down into the dark side, let me off with a stern warning.

 

But a little later, Mrs. Johnson was reading us the American history classic, Johnny Tremain, and momentarily forgot the name of our foe, King George III. "Now, class, this was in the time of King . . . uh . . . King . . . uhhhhh. . . ."

 

"King KONG?!?!" I volunteered. The class erupted in laughter.

 

Mrs. Johnson was again kind, firm and fair. Even though I was "teacher's pet," she sent me straight back to Mr. Dunn. This time, I faced him across his massive desk . . .

 

. . . and much to my relief, he broke out laughing. We made it our secret pact: we wouldn't tell Mrs. Johnson that he'd laughed, and I would again avoid the terrible Spanking Machine if I would promise never, ever to do that again.

 

And believe me, I haven't. Mixed up King George and King Kong, that is.

 

But because of Mrs. Johnson, who had a knack for making each child think he or she was very special, I've always had a soft spot in my heart for second-grade teachers. So does our daughter Maddy, who just finished second grade last week, and absolutely loved her teacher. The night before the last day, she cried, facing the prospect of a summer without Mrs. Scott in her daily life.

 

Mrs. Scott is that priceless teacher who, on the last day of school, is visited by a steady stream of "alumni" in upper grades, coming back for just one more hug. That's proof of her influence.

 

As the parent-child "reading café" she set up for the last day was winding down, I asked her what she normally does after the last backpack disappears down the hall for the summer.

 

            "Oh, I usually straighten up a few things, and then sit down at my desk, look out over the room . . . and cry," she said.

 

            God bless you, Mrs. Scott, and all the Mrs. Scotts out there. Hope you know we're crying, too.

 

            There's yet another second-grade teacher I know and love, who is kind and good, firm and fair. Lisa Roth is another one of those teachers who gets visited by her former students, and makes every one of them feel like teacher's pet.

 

But Lisa narrowly avoided being killed in a horrendous car crash this past year. I've written about her miraculous deliverance before, in Out For a Spin. I recently found out that the first person on the scene, who carried her away from the smashed car, was - wouldn't you know? - a teacher, too.

 

            She tracked him down - in another coincidence, his son is in a class with her friend's son - and sent him a beautiful letter. Here's an excerpt, with the most telling part in boldface:

 

 

I have wanted to write to you for a couple of reasons. Most importantly to thank you. I can only imagine how horrifying it must have been to see the accident and how much courage it took for you to run over to our car. You had no idea what you would find when you came to my door and yet your voice was so calm and reassuring.

You told me you would help me and you gently unhooked me, helped untangle my hair and lifted me out of the car. I remember holding you around your neck as you carried me to the grass. I'm sure you thought I was a crazy person, the way I was kissing you . . . but I had never felt so thankful and relieved in all my life. . . .

The night of the accident I remember standing in the street with you, looking at my car and realizing how tragic it would have had been for my students if I had been killed. Being a teacher, you understood how I felt. . . .

I spent many days watching the class, like I couldn't get enough of just being with them. I think the experience changed me as a teacher, and perhaps made me more patient. 

    

           

            Did you catch that? Her first thought was for her STUDENTS. Now, that's a teacher.

 

She knows she has them in trust from their parents for the school year . . . and in return, she gets their love and gratitude, for always. Like all great teachers, she has a heart the size of King . . . uh . . . King . . . uhhhhh . . . well, YOU know.

 

            Here she is last week, with Charlie, the four-legged teacher's pet who also survived the crash no worse for wear, and the lucky little ones who will always remember second grade with Mrs. Roth, the year they were all "teacher's pets." †