A Load of Bricks, A Test, and Seeing What is There

In honor of back-to-school season, here’s a story about teaching and seeing and changing.

The summer that I was 9, our family moved from California to Minnesota. As school approached, Mama worked hard to prepare me for school. She sewed new school dresses, brown plaid cotton with full skirts and big bows that tied in back. We bought warm woolen slacks, which we were told I would need to wear under the skirts to keep warm at recess. Mama took me over to Highland Elementary School to get registered and, compared to my old 2-story brick school, the school looked new and shiny—with gleaming floors and bright turquoise doors.

But as I started 5^th grade, I felt lost and lonely. I didn’t know any of the other children in the class. Mrs. Jaus, my teacher, was a large woman who didn’t stand for any nonsense. When we lined up to wash our hands before lunch, if the boys messed around she would loom above us and threaten, “If you keep that up, I will come down on you like a ton of bricks!” I was terrified. I was pretty sure Mrs. Jaus WAS a ton of bricks.

I had loved school in Oakland and done well. Here all the subjects seemed different. We hadn’t started multiplication in Oakland, and the kids here seemed to already know their tables. Every day we had quizzes on multiplication, and I just couldn’t do it. I spent a lot of time watching out the windows and daydreaming. I worked hard on my powers of telepathy, trying to send messages to my best friend Betty Jean. When Mrs. Jaus asked a question, I couldn't answer. At recess, I spent a lot of time on the swings, pretending I could fly and that I didn’t need anyone to play with.

When Mama came to the school open house, Mrs. Jaus spoke to her in low, harsh tones, telling her I just couldn’t keep up with the class. This was devastating to my school teacher Mama, and soon she made dittoed worksheets of the multiplication tables, which I had to practice with her every day. I don’t think I improved very much, though, since I still reach for a calculator if I need to know 8 X 9.

Then, one day, Mrs. Jaus passed out test booklets that we were all to complete, a national, standardized exam. I completed the test and returned to my lonely dreamy life. A few days later, Mrs. Jaus called me up to her desk and boomed out for all to hear, "Who did you copy from on that test?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

I guess she was swayed by my stammered denial because a few days later, the school psychologist had me come in his office. He asked me a bunch of questions and had me play some games and solve puzzles. After that, Mrs. Jaus treated me differently. She recommended me for the gifted and talented class in 6th grade, and best of all asked me to be a patrol girl, to wear the coveted white belt across my chest at recess and help the younger students.

So it all turned out well for me. Thanks to that IQ test. Mrs. Jaus’s image of me was changed and school became a welcoming place again. Mrs. Jaus even gave me clippings from her African violets and taught me how to grow them.

But what about students whose talents and abilities don’t show up on tests? What about students who, for whatever reason, do not do well in a classroom setting? Who is the person who will find their talents and help them to excel in what they can do?

The best teachers will do just that, bless them. As another school year starts, thank you to all the teachers who will look at children and see beyond the daydreaming or the rowdiness to notice what they can do well, to see their particular gifts. Thank you for the kind of seeing that will change each child’s life.