School of Hard Knocks

This week is teacher appreciation week at my son’s school. He is my baby and is in the 6th grade- and I love his school more than any school the older boys went to-or I went to for that matter. We have had some fun this weekend planning what we will bake the teachers, and what we will write in our “thank you” notes. They are truly unsung heroes of dedication and giving.
This made me think about the teachers I have had throughout my life. Although it is tempting to focus on the best ones (this being appreciation week and all), that is not where my mind is today. Instead I am reflecting on the valuable lessons I learned from a teacher who was, by far, the worst- but I am eternally grateful that I had her when I was young enough to capitalize on the life skills I got from the experience.
Mrs. Hilbert was my 4th grade English teacher. It was my first year at Franklin school, having just moved into the neighborhood. I was a small and somewhat frail child, eager to please, and in my short academic career I had only really experienced academic success (being made to take handwriting with the second graders while I was in the third grade notwithstanding).
Coming into Mrs. Hilbert’s class I was somewhat shy- but quietly confident that I would be a “top of the class” student. Quickly I learned that this was not going to be the case, for reasons that first confused and then frustrated me. A few days into my time in the class were assigned an essay. I turned mine in with the rest of the class, and Mrs. Hilbert pulled mine from the stack, held it up for all to see, and said “Class look at this paper that Cathy turned in. There is a lot wrong with even how it looks — can any of you tell me what is wrong with this?” As eager students from across the class raised their hands, delighted at the prospect of winning favor by piling on the criticism, I was quickly deflated in the embarrassment of a public humiliation I had never before experienced. I learned quickly that some of the “nice” girls that I normally associated with were quick to pile on about my inadequacies. When the day was over I was relieved that the pain was behind me, but this was just the beginning.
For reasons I didn’t understand, the pattern of having the class critique my work, and my work alone, became standard. Once that became too routine, Mrs. Hilbert then moved on to making personal comments to the class about how pretty or handsome certain students were, and would turn to me and say loudly “how can your mother send you to school with your hair/nails/clothes looking like that- doesn’t she love you?”
I was ashamed to tell my parents that this was happening- I could only see this as evidence that wasn’t excelling at my new school. I resolved that I would do much more and better work than any other kid in the class and then..then!…Mrs. Hilbert would recognize my work and she would tell the class about how well I did. Then the humiliation would end.
I attacked the next assignment with gusto! We were told to find some simple directions and demonstrate we had followed them. Kids did things like make “slice and bake” cookies — bringing in the label and the cookies as evidence of task completion. I decided that I would crochet a poncho that I could wear- a fairly complex pattern- and I would do it over the weekend. Triumphantly I came in on Monday — having crocheted night and day for the past few days- with the pattern and the poncho, expecting Mrs. Hilbert to be impressed with my heroic accomplishment. She picked it up with a sneer and said “you didn’t do this”. I assured her I did and I offered to bring in some yarn and a crochet hook to demonstrate my talents- but she made it clear that she didn’t want to see it. I was heartbroken.
That night I was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework and I dissolved into tears. My mother was, of course, shocked and eager to hear what the issue was. It all came tumbling out.
My mother- a school teacher herself -and also a force to be reckoned with- showed up at the school the next day. I wasn’t in the room when my mother spoke with Mrs. Hilbert, but I know that from that day forward the public abuse ended. It would be a stretch to say that Mrs. Hilbert became nice- but she basically ignored me and I was grateful for it.
The impact of this experience was something I felt over the months and years ahead. Before Mrs. Hilbert, I was very sensitive, cried easily and cared desperately about getting approval from others-especially adults. After Mrs. Hilbert I realized that there were plenty of adults who weren’t worth me valuing their opinion, and that if I was putting work into something it should be because it mattered to me and not someone else. When I put effort into something it was because I cared about it- for me a valuable lesson at the age of 9 years old. I quit crying and got on with life- I learned that there really are very few instances that there is anything worth getting that upset about. I spoke up when I had something to say, and I realized that some people will like me and some people won’t — and that is totally ok. I also realized that kids- or people- that seem nice sometimes aren’t but that my mother was someone I could ALWAYS count on to be there for me- and she wasn’t going to let anyone push her around, ever.
So this teacher appreciation week I appreciate all of the good and dedicated teachers, but I also appreciate the “school of hard knocks” which can teach us some invaluable lessons. Had it not been for Mrs. Hilbert I may have found the last couple of decades on a trading floor — where people definitely don’t mince words- intimidating…but I didn’t. If it weren’t for Mrs. Hilbert I may have found it tough to stand up to that client who thought being aggressive was going to make me uncomfortable enough to cave on important terms and conditions…but I didn’t. If it weren’t for Mrs. Hilbert I may have doubted whether I had what it takes to take that next promotion…but I didn’t. Thank you, Mrs. Hilbert, — I owe you!