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Adam wrote:
I'm going to remind Melissa about F5, but just in case, here's a backup topic:
Going through some old papers my parents brought from their house last week, I found several notes to my parents from teachers I'd had growing up. I got to thinking about the legions of teachers I had for the first 21 years of my life, and wondered:
Who were the 5 that had the greatest impact on me as a person, for good or ill?
Teachers… my mother was a teacher, and I barely escaped becoming one myself.
1. Mrs Mary Blackmore, my grade 4 teacher. I went to a little village school for K-4, and 5-7, with no academic streaming, no facilities for non-classroom activities, and in winter, only barely running water! Mrs B was a true eccentric, possibly even slightly mad woman, short & slightly stout, with frizzy black hair and bright orangy-red lipstick. She would have you dressing up, acting, and carrying on with all sorts of behaviour as it struck her. A geography lesson about Africa for instance, might include pretending to fetch water or “tribal” dancing. Soon after I started Grade 4, she let me abandon my desk and hide out in the “library” (a glorified closet) for as long as I wanted, provided I had completed the set exercises in math or whatever. She’d draw me into the activity-based lessons, but for bookwork, let me go my own way. This was great, but all good things come to an end. Twirling around one afternoon – I can’t for the life of me recall why – she managed to fall and break her ankle. So she was away for several months. And the school board brought in a substitute for the period Mrs B was off – my mother. Needless to say, the informality did not last.
2. Clive Mifflin. Taught me in grades 6 & 7, I think. Another completely mad person. Treated his students like people, to the point it was frowned upon by many parents. Clive loaned me the only book my parents ever banned me from reading at home – Anton LaVey’s _Satanist's Bible_. It might have been a bit much to loan to a 12-year old, I guess. As for the local suspicions of dabbling in dope, either I was too innocent to notice, or there really was nothing going on.
3. Brad Baxendale. Home room teacher of English in grades 10 & 11 (when I went to school, grade 11 was senior year). I still recall his squeaky Clarks shoes – we threatened to take up a classroom collection to buy him some non-squeaky ones. Used to do a “Word of the day” each morning pre-register with me – one I recall that I have never had the opportunity to put to use was “must – the sexual frenzy of the male elephant”. Brad made me think, and made me write, while being one of the most sarcastic people I have ever met. A. and I ran into him a few years ago when I was visiting back home, at a local hotel, where he and another ex-teacher were convention-eering with some community group, and proceeded to get quite tipsy together. They said that when they tracked through where their old students had ended up, I was one about whom nobody had any idea whatsoever. Staying at home, or decamping to either Toronto or Alberta was the norm. Not Manchester. Brad also said that of all his students over the years, I was the one who continually pushed the envelope of acceptable behaviour the most without ever once actually crossing the line to the degree he would have to take action. *Smile* – one tries.
4. There were a number of teachers and lecturers at university who re-awakened my interest in Newfoundland folklore and writing. This may be surprising bearing in mind that I was a chemistry major, but I spread the courses I did as options as widely as I was allowed! Many were “come-from-aways”, and seeing the respect they had for my culture made me see it something that was not necessarily to be escaped at the earliest opportunity, as I and many of my generation seemed to view it. Mr grandfather had inspired the interest, but I “outgrew” it as I was educated, and began to see how backward Newfoundland could be seen to be. Now, that sometimes seems like one of the best things about it, especially after living here!
5. Number 5 – probably my mother? She inspired me not to be a teacher, anyway! I worked as a teaching assistant at university (chemistry labs) and still do rather a lot of training in my work almost everywhere I've been since, but listening to her, and seeing her experiences did rather put me off the idea of making a career in education. I don’t have the patience to deal with those who don’t want to be taught, for one. And the experience of having your mother teach you all day, every day for half a year was not very pleasant – she definitely overcompensated against accusations of favouritism!
Other F5 participants are: Melissa, Adam, Merideth, Will, Gina, Gord, Adrienne, Marvin, Rob, Laura, Jon, Ritu, Julie, Morgaine, Rik, Fionna, Ray, Roganda and Mojave Sixty-Six.
I'm going to remind Melissa about F5, but just in case, here's a backup topic:
Going through some old papers my parents brought from their house last week, I found several notes to my parents from teachers I'd had growing up. I got to thinking about the legions of teachers I had for the first 21 years of my life, and wondered:
Who were the 5 that had the greatest impact on me as a person, for good or ill?
Teachers… my mother was a teacher, and I barely escaped becoming one myself.
1. Mrs Mary Blackmore, my grade 4 teacher. I went to a little village school for K-4, and 5-7, with no academic streaming, no facilities for non-classroom activities, and in winter, only barely running water! Mrs B was a true eccentric, possibly even slightly mad woman, short & slightly stout, with frizzy black hair and bright orangy-red lipstick. She would have you dressing up, acting, and carrying on with all sorts of behaviour as it struck her. A geography lesson about Africa for instance, might include pretending to fetch water or “tribal” dancing. Soon after I started Grade 4, she let me abandon my desk and hide out in the “library” (a glorified closet) for as long as I wanted, provided I had completed the set exercises in math or whatever. She’d draw me into the activity-based lessons, but for bookwork, let me go my own way. This was great, but all good things come to an end. Twirling around one afternoon – I can’t for the life of me recall why – she managed to fall and break her ankle. So she was away for several months. And the school board brought in a substitute for the period Mrs B was off – my mother. Needless to say, the informality did not last.
2. Clive Mifflin. Taught me in grades 6 & 7, I think. Another completely mad person. Treated his students like people, to the point it was frowned upon by many parents. Clive loaned me the only book my parents ever banned me from reading at home – Anton LaVey’s _Satanist's Bible_. It might have been a bit much to loan to a 12-year old, I guess. As for the local suspicions of dabbling in dope, either I was too innocent to notice, or there really was nothing going on.
3. Brad Baxendale. Home room teacher of English in grades 10 & 11 (when I went to school, grade 11 was senior year). I still recall his squeaky Clarks shoes – we threatened to take up a classroom collection to buy him some non-squeaky ones. Used to do a “Word of the day” each morning pre-register with me – one I recall that I have never had the opportunity to put to use was “must – the sexual frenzy of the male elephant”. Brad made me think, and made me write, while being one of the most sarcastic people I have ever met. A. and I ran into him a few years ago when I was visiting back home, at a local hotel, where he and another ex-teacher were convention-eering with some community group, and proceeded to get quite tipsy together. They said that when they tracked through where their old students had ended up, I was one about whom nobody had any idea whatsoever. Staying at home, or decamping to either Toronto or Alberta was the norm. Not Manchester. Brad also said that of all his students over the years, I was the one who continually pushed the envelope of acceptable behaviour the most without ever once actually crossing the line to the degree he would have to take action. *Smile* – one tries.
4. There were a number of teachers and lecturers at university who re-awakened my interest in Newfoundland folklore and writing. This may be surprising bearing in mind that I was a chemistry major, but I spread the courses I did as options as widely as I was allowed! Many were “come-from-aways”, and seeing the respect they had for my culture made me see it something that was not necessarily to be escaped at the earliest opportunity, as I and many of my generation seemed to view it. Mr grandfather had inspired the interest, but I “outgrew” it as I was educated, and began to see how backward Newfoundland could be seen to be. Now, that sometimes seems like one of the best things about it, especially after living here!
5. Number 5 – probably my mother? She inspired me not to be a teacher, anyway! I worked as a teaching assistant at university (chemistry labs) and still do rather a lot of training in my work almost everywhere I've been since, but listening to her, and seeing her experiences did rather put me off the idea of making a career in education. I don’t have the patience to deal with those who don’t want to be taught, for one. And the experience of having your mother teach you all day, every day for half a year was not very pleasant – she definitely overcompensated against accusations of favouritism!
Other F5 participants are: Melissa, Adam, Merideth, Will, Gina, Gord, Adrienne, Marvin, Rob, Laura, Jon, Ritu, Julie, Morgaine, Rik, Fionna, Ray, Roganda and Mojave Sixty-Six.
