Everyone’s time is unique. It is consisted of a string of memories. Within these beads of memory, some are specially shining, some were sculped in a special shape, some changed the track of time. I don’t think I am old enough to name the most momentous bead in my life, but when I brush through the string of memories, I do have a collection of memorable moments, one of which was the day in my fourth grade year.
I was quite timid when I was a child. I would hide behind my parents’ or grandparents’ legs and grabbed their clothes tightly when a “stranger” said hi to me. Initiating a greeting to neighbors was a hard task, even answering a simple question from close relatives required certain courage. One of my toddler stories was that one day when we visited Summer Palace, several tourists from UK passed by and thought I was cute; they waved hi to me while I suddenly lay down on the bench, covered my eyes with little palms, and waved back with my feet.
My timidity did not go anywhere better when I started school. In the first three years, we were little chicks under cover. Since my academic grade was on the top, I was designated as the “class president”, but that empty title didn’t ask me to do anything special. Then it turned to be fourth grade…
In the first day of fourth grade, we were told that we had entered into the “senior phase” of the elementary school and needed to start taking care of many things that were previously covered by teachers or other adults. Each class was assigned a new team of teachers. My new homeroom teacher, Ms. Wu, was a middle-aged female who seldom smiled. I heard she’s one of the best teachers in our school, in our district, even in our city, but also very very strict. I was not afraid of her, as her class was interesting and the homework was not too hard for me, until that Class Meeting.
In the past, our weekly Class Meeting was always charged by the homeroom teachers, who would summarize the week, pass along or reiterate principle’s notes, instruct us to wipe the classroom windows, sweep the yard; twice a year, we would have field trips; when there’s spare time, we were given extra homework to do during that period. I never thought “class president” would need to prepare anything for the Class Meetings and was totally freaked out when Mrs. Wu called me out to lead the class that day.
I don’t remember how I walked to the front of the classroom. The only thing I remembered was standing there with flushed face and blank brain; blood was frozen, time was frozen, each minuet was a torture and as long as a century. Finally, she let me go back to my seat and announced that we needed an election for a truly qualified “class president”. Each candidate should submit a proposal of the class activities for the semester and give a speech in a few days, and the whole class would vote right after that. A few boys raised their hands excitedly to join the campaign, then the teacher turned to me and said, “you could join as well if you want to”.
Did I want to be the president? I don’t know. But I knew I had no choice but rise from where I fell. For the rest of the few days, I spent all my time brainstorming ideas and revising my proposal. It was my faith that I must wash away my shame. By the due day, I was the only person who submitted a proposal.
Based on the rule, I was the winner. No matter the teacher liked or not, at least she knew I was serious and not easy to give up.
For the rest of the semester, I had to follow my own proposal to implement the plan. Talking in front of 40 students was quite frightened no matter how much you prepared. I made so many silly and embarrassing mistakes. However, with such a traumatized start, nothing could be worse. My classmates may laugh at me, but Mrs. Wu never let me down since then. She always stood at the back of the room and looked at me with encouragement, sometimes with a subtle nod or shake, sometimes with a comment or correction, sometimes just a slight smile. One day I suddenly noticed that organizing and leading a class activity was quite manageable. It’s not a nightmare to me anymore.
She still criticized me, I still felt nervous whenever going to see her individually. I even hated her a little bit because she gave me hard time, but at the same time I liked her and admired her. She didn’t only help me overcome the fear for public speech, but also the other fear — writing.
I loved reading since I was young, but it didn’t turn me into a natural writer. My grandpa encouraged me to write letters to him since I was seven and my mom gave me writing assignments during the school breaks. They told me to write just as I talk, but how could these be same? Writing had always been a big burden to me. Surprisingly since Mrs. Wu took over, writing gradually turned to be my favorite part of the class. It’s a pity that I forgot what exact approaches or tricks she used to inspire us for writing, but several tips have been retained:
1. Be real, be personal
2. Rich vocabulary is secondary
3. A tiny raindrop could mirror the big world
4. Just start writing
Two years later, I won a National Writing prize for youth. Four years later, I joined a Young Writers Program to learn more about literature writing. Ten years later, my articles were published on College Magazines and Internet. Now I dare to use my limited English to write about my life. All these started from my fourth grade.
Since then I could speak naturally not only in front of my class, but the whole school. I attended debates and speech contests, and even chose teaching as my career.
The teacher who only taught me one semester and gave me the most shameful experience changed my life. “Better than a thousand days of diligent study is one day with a great teacher.”
Last week my kids were talking about their favorite teachers too. Aidan said it’s her English teacher in 9th grade.
“You mean the most strict teacher in your high school? Did you get the only B in your whole school years in her class? ”
“Yep, Yep! It’s not about the grade. I learned the way to appreciate literature much more and the class shaped my world view. She has a high standard and high expectation on us, which is precious in US schools in these days. I got an A from her in the second semester though.”
Alivia’s favorite teacher is the one she has now in her Social Studies. She kept on talking about him — how he adjusts the curriculum to incorporate real life cases, how he allows students to debate during class on any social topics, how he’s willing to pause the textbook lessons and spend time to answer students’ questions regarding government, policies, and current events. Inspired by him, Alivia attended school district board meetings, listened to the State of the Union Address, decided to join debate team and take AP History in high school, discussed women’s rights with the other classmate, and the two girls even talked about opening a law firm together in the future. It’s still too early to say she found her direction for the future, but I saw the teacher opening a door and planting a seed in his student’s heart.
Someone is not only a teacher, but a awakener, a ray of light, a sculptor of life!
No comments:
Post a Comment