I probably don’t tell her enough, but I am beyond-words proud of the
lady that looked me in the eye on that July afternoon and said, “I do.”
She’s a teacher.
She’s a public school teacher at that. And she is part of the most
under-appreciated, misunderstood and wrongly maligned profession in the
world today.
Obviously, there are some people working in classrooms who probably
should be doing something else. That’s true with any profession. But
don’t lump the vast majority in the basket with the bad apples.
My wife, Stephanie Herndon, has been teaching in the Shelby County
school system for 17 years and I never cease to be amazed at the
regularity a trip to a store or restaurant is interrupted by someone
calling her name, then running over to hug her. I no longer have to ask
who it was as the answer most likely will be, “That is one of my former
students.”
I’m proud of her and have grown weary about the bad rap so many teachers get.
I learned first-hand just what kind of influence a teacher could
have. My aunt, Myrtle Perry, taught 42 years and for much of her career,
she led Alton School as its principal in addition to teaching a class.
In her day, she’d find out which kids didn’t go to church and invite
them to attend Corinth Christian with her. Then, she’d load up her car
on Sunday morning.
But may Heaven help you if you crossed her during the week. Suffice
it to say, she knew how to put a whuppin’ on someone who back-talked or
didn’t follow the rules.
The good ol’ days, you know.
Today, my wife and the countless others who simply want to change
lives can’t do those things my aunt did. The politically correct crowd
would have a cow if teachers did that today, but they can still make a
difference.
I know. A large portion of my job deals with high school coaches.
The successful ones aren’t nearly as concerned with the winning
percentage as they are with the grade point average. The all-staters
might get the accolades, but the ones who make themselves successful in
life often conjure up the fondest memories.
In the same way, the teacher that looks at a child as an asset for
test scoring purposes probably won’t last. I can guarantee you that in
the long run that teacher won’t be as successful.
That’s not to say we don’t have problems in our schools. We do.
And I thought of that last Tuesday. I thought of my wife. I thought
of relatives and friends who work in public school classrooms.
My Twitter feed was going haywire with the news of a shooting at
Fern Creek High School in Jefferson County. I happened to be home for a
few minutes anyway, so I tuned in to one of the Louisville television
stations and simply started shaking my head.
Thankfully, only one person was hurt and the alleged shooter, who
somehow got a gun inside the school, was captured in less than three
hours.
Years ago, the problems in schools were things like chewing gum in
class, cutting line and the like. Sure there were unruly kids, but those
kids often got to meet what we called, “The Board of Education.”
I’m not referring to a group of people elected to a position, either.
Yet, when my Aunt Myrtle passed away, so many successful people,
some of them along in years themselves, stood at the casket and told me
something like, “She made me what I am today.”
Crisis management? That was me having to explain a bad grade to my parents.
Times have changed. My wife, and the many Christian teachers like
her, would not be able to go through the school inviting kids to church
like my aunt did. But they can still make a difference.
And teachers today not only have to know their subject matter and
classroom discipline, but are usually trained in real crisis management.
In reading about the Fern Creek incident in last Wednesday’s
Courier-Journal, I found a quote from the school principal, Nathan
Meyer, very interesting. The Louisville newspaper said Meyer praised his
teachers for following the school’s safety procedures “exactly as we
have drilled and students and teacher behaved admirably under the
circumstances.”
It would be foolish to think that public schools are perfect. But
maybe, just maybe, it’s time to thank those men and women who buy
supplies out of their own pockets and who don’t see their rewards in the
form of a paycheck.
I know from experience that a “thank you” or a hug would mean a lot more.
