My first year of teaching, I had five classes to prepare for, five homework assignments, tests, and essays to grade. I was to teach using five textbooks I’d never read, though I had a fondness for them—they were the Harcourt series that I remembered from my own seventh-grade English class. Adventures for Readers, Book 1 was the first time I knew I was falling in love with language and poetry. One of the deficiencies in my teacher training program was a unit on classroom management. How was I supposed to control 43 seventh graders? The class size meant that we teachers changed rooms, because only one room was large enough to hold 43 desks. Thus, we teachers grabbed our books and raced down the open halls; in my case, I just hoped for enough time for a bathroom break if I needed one. Nothing prepared me for the energy and the mischief seventh graders could get into. Sitting in the back of the room, Lonny and Daisy had marker fights, making colorful dashes on each other’s forearms. God alone knew what their parents thought. But Lonny’s chief partner in crime was Johnny. Together they racked up multiple detentions and extra work, none of which deterred them. Finally, I sent them to the principal’s office. Grif called me in on the conference he’d already begun. Seated in front of his desk were two frightened boys, their faces tear-stained, their blue eyes wide and wary. “Miss Johnson, these boys have been a source of trouble for you from the beginning. They deserve to be expelled from this school. But I am leaving the decision up to you. What shall we do with these boys?” No syllabus had ever covered this sort of thing. I looked at the boys. I looked at Grif, who sat pokerfaced, giving me no clue. “No,” I said finally. “No, I think they will do better. Don’t expel them.” The boys shed a few more tears, in relief this time, and went back to class. Later I confronted Grif. “Don’t ever do anything like that to me again! How was I supposed to know what to do?” He just smiled. “I knew what you’d say. You now sit at the right hand of the Father. Those boys won’t disrupt class anymore.” And they never did.
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Baptist GirlI was a conservative Baptist girl who grew up to become a career Christian, working first in a Baptist school and then in a Baptist college. For about three decades, it was very good until it wasn’t, and I had to leave. But the Baptists formed me. This is my homage to the good times and good people of the world I left, finally, at forty-three, when I became an Episcopalian. These are my memories; others might disagree with my recollections. So be it. Archives
January 2024
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