Miss Blaine knew. She knew I liked stories and histories and language. If I could read about it and begin to imagine it, I could know it and the more I read and imagined the more I wanted to learn. And, she knew I was a quiet student seldom raising my hand but could give illustrated answers when called upon. Miss Blaine knew me. She was my teacher for two years – 4th and 5th grade, back-to-back with Miss Blaine – in the late 1950s.
Miss Blaine knew Carol and Richard and Mike W and Bruce. They topped all the weekly charts for the 32 students in our classroom; those were early Boomer years when all classrooms were bulging. Spelling, arithmetic quizzes, science check tests and annual ITBS assessments – these were our straight A’s champs week in and week out. She fed them more assignments than the rest of us, and more comments on their projects, and more difficult books to read. The more she gave, the better they did. Miss Blaine knew Dick and Donnie and Steve Y struggled to read and do their math and she gave them more of her one-on-one time. She knew when a child needed the boost of leading the class from her room to Miss Snyder’s art room, the little self-esteem boost of being picked by Miss Blaine to lead.
Miss Blaine knew how to hook each child in her classroom to cause each of us to learn. She never looked at us sitting in our rows of desks with a solitary gaze but flitted her eyes from child to child as she spoke so that we knew she was talking to each of us intentionally. She was short in stature and did not need to kneel or bend very far when she stood by my desk to comment on my work or ask a guiding question to keep me on track. With eyes shut I can still summon her presence and my want to be a better student, to get more problems right on my nemesis math assignments, because she thought I could.
I would like to think that every student in every school experiences their own Miss Blaine. Across the fourteen years of 4K-12 education, a random draw of Miss Blaine’s in elementary, middle, and high school, in grade level classes and in subject classes, is enough to make school and learning meaningful. It is enough hooking by master teachers to keep children self-invested in their learning.
Consider your own history as a student. Can you name your Miss Blaines? Can you remember how specific teachers made a difference in your school life? In your heart of hearts you know them as they knew you.
Miss Blaine, Mrs. Wendlent, Mr. Marshall, Mrs. McArthur, Mr. Cummings, Mr. Chute, Mr. Mixdorf, Mr. Hubacek – I am eternally grateful that you taught me.
My listing these names does not mean I did not learn from each of the 80+ teachers who were mine in my kindergarten through senior year experience. I indeed learned from all. But, there really is a difference in a child’s connections with their teachers. Some connections are as routine and pedestrian as the spending of common time and the management of 180 days’ of school work. Other connections mark you for your lifetime.
My Miss Blaine is long gone, as are almost all my teachers. So are many of my classmates. We know that the effects of a person’s lifetime are short-lived, but while we live and remember the effects of the teachers who knew us and hooked us as learning children, the glory of their good teaching prevails.