Dancing in the Light

My parents were my first exposure to teachers. It wasn’t until I was five that I had my first classroom teacher, Ms. Henderson. I still remember her with great fondness. She wore the dresses that were typical in the forties, sported plain rimmed glasses, and was pleasantly plump. I recall her hair being slightly grey, but it was her warm smile that sticks with me the most. It isn’t the lessons I remember, it’s just her. She taught in a one-room schoolhouse in the countryside outside Omaha, Nebraska. The school contained five elementary grades, organized by class rows.

My memories of the school are limited, but I have a vivid recollection of one winter, snowy day when I arrived at school all bundled up in a coat, scarf, boots, and gloves. I had just walked the mile and a half to school as I did every day. There was a small foyer where the children could store and hang their snowsuits and place their boots. My memory starts with me entering the foyer and standing over the floor heater vent to try and warm up. Ms. Henderson came to help me remove my outer wraps as she did with most students. She was always smiling and loving.

Upon reflecting on Ms. Henderson’s challenge, I can now appreciate the effort required to prepare daily lessons for five different educational levels. I don’t know her motivation for the many years she taught, but I believe she must have loved her students a great deal. I left Nebraska when I was nine years old and never saw Ms. Henderson again. I heard that she went on to teach special needs children. She was a saint.

Fast forward to 2001 when I began teaching at Houston Baptist University. I thought it would be a great transitional job from my corporate work until I fully retired, and it was. Before then I hadn’t spent time thinking about the difficulties or rewards of teaching. I never reflected on the preparation teachers made prior to the class presentation, or the flexibility needed to meets the needs of students with various levels of interest and aptitude, or the never-ending grading. I thought teachers just showed up, gave a lecture they had given many times before, and left until the next day. It was time for my awakening.

I learned to understand the high level of effort required if you want to be a good teacher. When I began to teach for the first time, I was consumed by preparation and always tried to keep the material contemporary and improve my performance. I realized you must have a passion and strong point of view about your subject, otherwise you will have no credibility. I also learned that if you love your students you will have a much bigger impact.

My teaching experiences and memories came to mind recently when my wife and I visited our families in northern California. In twelve days we saw two piano recitals, two basketball games, one ballet performance, one baseball game, and one choir concert. One of our five grandchildren was involved in every event, and all the performances were greatly influenced by coaches and teachers.

I particularly admired the children’s teachers. I saw one at Grace Gehrman’s ballet examination. The ballet routines were performed in front of an observer, while her ballet instructor observed. There were many movements and positions to be performed. The observer would call out a routine and Grace would scamper to the location, ever so gracefully, and execute the movements. At the completion of each routine the judge, in her gentle and soothing voice, would say, “Thank you.”

The observer was probably in her late sixties. She was an elegant and beautiful woman, with the body and manner of a ballerina. Her voice was soft and gentle, but with a ring of authenticity. Her hair was well coiffed with streaks of grey. Her words seemed to float in the air as if they were born from her dance training.

At the conclusion of the examination, she asked Grace and the one other student performing to resume a few of the positions. She gently, and with love, pointed out how they could improve, from how to land on their feet, the position of their hands, and other subtleties of their movements. The students were both eagerly attentive.

There was a lightness in the room, the lightness of the dancers as they performed and scurried between the ballet’s movements. The softness of the observer, her directions, and her instructions were very calming. I loved it when, at the end of each and every movement, she gave a sincere thank you to the students. She knew the long road ahead if they were to become professional ballerinas and seemed pleased at the progress these nine-year olds were making.

I visited with her briefly after the performance and learned that she had been a ballerina in Europe for many years, then taught ballet for ten years before “retiring” to coach young dancers. I admired her willingness to continue to teach and pass on decades of ballet wisdom.

The best teachers love their subject and their students. Love was in the air.