What’s Going On?

Teachers are being vilified. Parents are referring to them as Glorified Babysitters, making assumptions that they arrive at work at 8am, leave at 3, and do nothing else.

What. The fuck.

Every teacher I have ever known works their asses off. Staying up past midnight grading papers, creating quizzes and tests, making lesson plans…

Working through holidays. Getting second jobs- sometimes throughout the year, sometimes only in the summer.

Using their own money to purchase classroom supplies because the budget wasn’t passed by ignorant citizens who don’t understand that passing the school budget is an investment in their own future. Your local elementary could spew out the next great scientist- or architect, chef, graphic designer, musician, home run king… God Forbid we let the schools have enough money to keep electives in the curriculum.

Granted, the school boards seem to be going insane, and it would be welcome to see them take pay cuts and not, for instance, pay Head Janitors more than teachers with 20 years under their belts, but really folks. Teachers are glorified babysitters? They’re getting a free ride on tax money?

Get a grip.

I wrote this letter in January. I hadn’t sent it yet because I was having trouble with my printer, but I’m going to share it with you, print it out, and freaking mail it.

All it takes is one good teacher, folks. Just one.

And there are millions.

January 27, 2009

Dear Mr. Spille,

I really hope this letter finds you well and happy.

The other day as I was beginning to type my very first novel I was sorting everything in my head, and I thought, “Never introduce a brand new character at the very end of a piece of writing. It jars the reader out of the story, and they become confused. Mr. Spille told me that.”

I know that “alot” is not a word because I used to sit at my desk in 9th grade: front row, next to the windows, and I would look up and to the right and see that poster hanging near the ceiling. I know what a gerund is and how it works because you worked and worked with me to get me to understand its place in writing. You also spent a great deal of time forcing me to correct my “wimpy indents” by placing my fingers on the paper and having me start to print after my fingers.

I have to let you know that aside from this letter, business letters I used to write for employers, and the book I’ve started, I don’t indent at all anymore. I know I have that handy “tab” function on the keyboard, but it’s sort of annoying. TAB. Type. TAB. The hell with it.

The reason I can do this is because you taught me to love grammar and writing, and while I am essentially a grammar fiend at this point, in my own daily writing I screw with it on a regular basis. I do it for tempo and flow, I do it to illustrate points, and sometimes I do it just to be ridiculous.

I have no idea how you did your job. I have flirted many times with the idea of becoming a teacher, but then I slap myself and remember that I dislike most teenagers and cannot stand people who prefer to remain ignorant than try to learn. I am very grateful, however, that you chose to become a teacher. Most of all I am grateful that I was lucky enough to be assigned to your class. You were the first teacher to treat me like a person rather than a student who barfed out more papers for grading. You allowed me to be sarcastic with you in class without reacting as if I was disrespecting you, and since I had a fairly fragile self esteem that was important. I suddenly had a verbal sparring partner in the classroom for the first time, you gave back better than I lobbed out, and I never felt like I was annoying or an inconvenience. The first day I brought you an apple to be a smartass, and you laughed, it made a world of difference in my personality. I kept leaving apples on your desk because it was bothering the snot out of some of the other kids, and hey, anything I could do to annoy them I would.

You loaned me Joshua- Son of None, and oh holy cow a teacher just trusted me with one of his own possessions. That book was so fantastic that when I was in my early 20s I combed the used bookstores in Philadelphia until I found a copy. Thank you for that book.

You really taught me to understand that Shakespeare should be seen and not read, even if you did edit out the racy parts of Romeo and Juliet so the parents wouldn’t have conniptions.

You also had the best wedding story I’ve ever heard. I’m still impressed with the time and money savings.

I came back once to visit after I started in Collingswood, but I didn’t want to be a pest so I stopped visiting. You had new students to deal with, new brains to slap into shape, and I was afraid I’d bother you. It’s been 24 years since I graduated from Oaklyn. I think it’s way past time to thank you for everything.

You are one of the primary reasons I am a writer. I might not be fantastic every time I churn something out, and sometimes it just flat out sucks, but I am a writer. It’s what I do, it’s what I am, and it’s what I think about the percentage of time that I am not thinking about my kids and running the house (Ok, sometimes even when I’m thinking of those things I’m writing at the same time). I have not been paid, I have received encouraging rejection letters, I have written work for others, and I try to do it almost every day.

Thank you.

In Gratitude-

Julie Ann Summerell – OJHS Class of ’86