Teachers are familiar with this reaction. Parents send their precious children to school praying for miracles and then miss the thousand of which occur every day in the classroom. What teachers hear is “you should do more with less,” “you should have done this differently,” “I expected more” — “he had a hat!”
I have been asked to speak at a retirement party for three veteran teachers this spring, and I am not sure how to thank them for the gifts they have given our family and hundreds of others over the years.
It was a sticky August morning six years ago when we walked into Ann Lueck’s classroom on the first day of school for our oldest child, Connor. I wondered if this Mrs. Lueck was up to the task. Did she care enough? Greenwood Elementary School was in temporary facilities that year, and I drove Connor to school instead of putting him on a bus. Because I walked him into the classroom every morning, I was able to witness some of the Lueck miracles.
In the days following Sept. 11, 2001, Ann helped her students grapple with world events. Ann was ready when one child asked why bad men had flown planes into buildings and instinctively turned the question back to the class. Joe, a kid with unruly blonde hair, knew the answer, “because they never learned the difference between right and wrong when they were kids.” If you were lucky enough to be a student of Ann Lueck’s, you probably learned a lot about the difference between right and wrong while learning to read.
First grade was Berneda Franson. Berneda shares with Ann the unique distinction of having all of the Gillette kids as students, which means she got me every day for three years, too. Berneda’s classroom looks like the textbook model of first grade. Nothing is out of place. It seems to ooze learning, warmth and a strict adherence to the lesson plan. Everything has its spot. Everything happens on time.
I discovered that this woman who looks as though she walks out of the Talbot’s catalogue each morning is truly a master teacher. Most of us have had moments when everything is in place and we are able to do our very best. Berneda seems to have 180 of these days a year. But, it is not the perfect mix of structure, guidance and encouragement alone that enables her to reach her students. Her secret lies in the love and respect she has for the young people she teaches.
Fifth grade teacher Bruce Anderson does not keep an ordered classroom and has never been mistaken for a fashion model. His classroom is like an old Chevy Bel Air. Despite being a bit out of whack, disheveled and in need of cleaning and repair, you want nothing more than to settle in and find out what it feels like to take that baby for a spin. There has never been a grander car on the road or a more perfect place to be a fifth grader. His energy, enthusiasm, and goofiness are part of the Anderson recipe of preparing ungainly students for middle school and beyond.
Bruce served in the National Guard for 30 years and plans to spend part of his retirement traveling the world. Someday soon, a military officer will welcome him to an Air Force base in some foreign land with the respect an officer of Bruce’s rank deserves. What this lieutenant or captain won’t know is that Bruce’s military accomplishments, while distinguished and important, pale to his service as a teacher and mentor.
These three heroes are like thousands who serve in our nation’s classrooms. Before the last school bell of the year rings, I hope you will take a moment to thank a teacher. Tell them we parents appreciate them even though we more often complain about the hat than offer thanks for the miracles.
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This column appeared in the 5/17/2007 edition of Des Moines Cityview.
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