*THAT* Teacher

Who were those teachers for you? You know the ones I mean. The men and women who taught you so much more than their subjects, so much more than they were paid to teach you. I can't tell you who won the best actor Oscar last year or the World Series ten years ago. I can tell you these names:

Molly Gardner. Third grade math. She wouldn't give up on me. Taught me not to give up on myself. To this day, whenever I want to quit something, I remember her. Realizing I made a foolish mistake and cutting my losses? Acceptable. Realizing I'm in over my head and need help? More than acceptable. Quitting? Nope. That I won't do. Because of Miss Gardner.

Anne Spencer. 4th and 5th grade math (and history, I seem to recall). I was attending a special school for gifted kids (this is where I met Nemeria!) and deserved to be there...for anything that dealt with words. Math and science ~ not so much. I received my first ever C in her class. Cried all day. Cried all night. Not even Daddy could make this one better. The next day, she pulled me aside. She was prouder of that C than any of the As and Bs she gave out because she knew how hard I had worked for it. That day I learned that my best, my true best, is always good enough, no matter what anybody else says.

Terry Wilson. Eighth grade science. I was Different in a town that didn't like different, let alone Different. I was smart and lonely and Different. He found little ways to make me feel okay about all of those things, eventhough I was really, really bad in science.

Duane Rutkowski. Mr. R. 10th grade history. At a performing arts high school, academics aren't all that important. Oh, they pretend otherwise but so long as you are getting the show up, that's what is going to matter in the long run. At least that's how it used to be. But I was smart. I cared. So did he. I used to sit with my feet propped up on his desk throughout class. One day, another student tried it and got chastised for it. When he said "But she does it" and pointed to me, Mr. R. replied "That's different." His was the only class I wouldn't blow off to get a show up.

Wally Sherwood. College criminal justice professor. He is the only instructor I ever had that I really, really wanted to impress. I was the only student he had the years I was with him that got As. He taught me I didn't want to be an attorney. He taught me the Constitution is as beautiful a thing as I always suspected it was. He taught me it is more important to be just than to be fair.

But the one who is the reason for this post... That's Betty Witt. 6th and 8th grade English. Retired last year after 35 years teaching. She was a stickler for grammar and punctuation. "Not bad" was high praise. Students would regularly cry in her class because she could be so biting if an assignment wasn't as well written as she believed you could deliver. She didn't make us read Youth Literature but allowed us to read "real" books. 1984. Watership Down. She introduced me to Hesse and Vonnegut. "A lot" is indeed two words, not one. If you pick up a copy of Test Words next time you're in a Borders, read the acknowledgements. She's there. Because she helped instill in me the love of words I carry with me to this day. I have been trying to track her down since the book came out. Yesterday, I came home to a message from her. She had called me when she found out I was looking for her. Tonight, I called her back.

Pobble: Betty, it's Boston Pobble.
Betty: Girl, what have you done?
Pobble: Well, I write books.
Betty: And what took you so long?

And if that isn't the greatest compliment a writer can be paid, I don't know what is.

So I ask again ~ who were your those teachers?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.