The first teacher I ever saw cry was Sr. Rita Woehlcke, my tenth grade English teacher. Sr. Rita was famous for telling personal anecdotes during class. They were such a part of her daily routine that she spent our first class together telling us all about her family. It was important that we knew about the family; they were the main characters in most of her stories. However, it wasn’t her family that she was crying about that spring day.
She had entered the classroom with a thin book under her arm. She opened it up and began to read us the story of Alexander and his no good, very bad, day. I had not met Alexander before. I was immediately taken with him as well as Judith Viorst’s writing style.
It wasn’t until the end of the story that she cried. You see, the story was just a segue to the real story. She had lost her camera while on a Sunday outing with the chorus group to a local state park. She was beside herself to have lost this prize possession of hers. It had been a gift from her family, the family we heard about on a daily basis. In that moment I think everyone in the class respected her a little bit more, I know I did. I respected her ability to see us, a group of 15 year olds, as real people who could understand her ups and downs.
Sr. Rita was one of the few teachers I remember who made it a point to get to know each student. That connection is part of the reason I still remember her so fondly, it’s most likely one of the many reasons I majored in English two years later as well.
Build relationships. I keep hearing that it’s the best way to get students involved in their learning.
to be continued...
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