A teacher's soul

My wife Jan has taught in elementary schools for over 20 years. Our children Matthew and Kelly have had a varied education: both went to public and private schools, and a few colleges. My son Matthew is currently in nursing school, and yesterday completed and submitted an assignment for a 7,000-word précis of an hour-long interview with a patient. I have two undergraduate degrees, a master’s degree, and experience in public and private schools. So I’m passingly familiar with education.

But nothing prepared me for the last two years. During these two years as a staff reporter, I visited several elementary schools for fun events, and for special projects. I witnessed first-hand highly impressive commitment, persistence, and particularly classroom management skills that I marvel at. I’m afraid that, if I were up there before the class, I’d be like the archetypal substitute teacher – those kids would eat me alive, figuratively speaking. And don’t get me wrong – generally, they’re very nice kids.

Imagine being on stage all day, because that’s what teachers do. Imagine as well being responsible as an adult and as a professional to hundreds of loving parents for the safety of several hundred children, each day. Imagine being vomited on; of having to take an embarrassed and penitent third-grader to the bathroom after an accident. Of having to shell out $1.50 for the third day this week for lunch money, because the student or the parent forgot it.

I’ve looked into a teacher’s soul, having lived with one for many years. I listen to stories each night about her day – stories that make you laugh, stories that make you angry, stories that make you sad and angry, and a few that make you happy.

I’ve witnessed her control a class of over 30 kids, of whom 95 percent understand and comply with the rules in the computer room in which she teaches, but the remaining five percent require special attention, as she continues to have to manage the entire class.

And I’ve seen this in other classrooms, with the other teachers whom I’ve visited. You have simply got to see these special folk at work. They use rather loud classroom voices, so everyone can hear them. They move fast, confidently. They stop briefly to deal with errant attention spans, and move on to complete the assignment. The best teachers have developed eyes in the back of their head, and ears that can hear a whisper across a room, and quickly sort out whether to deal with it, or to let it go – this time.

I have listened to stories of epic confrontations between my wife and a student who was sent to her for discipline, but those who send these kids to her know that Jan isn’t one-dimensional with respect to misbehaving children. If a student wants to fight, wants a confrontation, wants to stand toe-to-toe with her, to test her mettle - proceed at your own risk. She’s done this for a long time; you’re new to this.

But if an errant student admits they lied, seems to be sorry, she will impose some sort of lesson to prevent its happening again, because Mrs. LaVaute means business. She’s not been called “Mean Mrs. LaVaute” for years for nothing.

But, then, she will relax just a bit and chat with you. If you’re willing, she will make friends with you, provided you toe the line. She will look out for you in the future, and look after you. She will find you a coat to wear home if you’re cold; she will listen to your story of a horrible weekend when your dad left you, your mom and your brothers and sisters. She will call in a social worker to help deal with the issue, but over and above that, you will get Mrs. LaVaute’s special loving treatment. I’ve been privileged to witness it for many years now. Often, I’m just amazed.

I’ve listened to blow-by-blow accounts of investigations of who did what, who punched who, who said what. I’ve seen teachers team up to catch a misbehaving student in a lie. I’ve heard stories where the emergency sprinkler spigots in the ceiling include video cameras that actually recorded the deviant act!

I’ve partied many times with teachers. We’ve hosted end-of-school parties at our home, we’ve gone to informal retirement parties, we’ve gotten together at a restaurant simply because they enjoy being with each other. Teachers as a rule respect and even admire each other. They know what it means to be in that room with 30 kids; they know how special managing that daily, hourly task is. But the spouses of partying teachers know this: most of the time, they talk about school. They talk about kids. I don’t think there is another profession that consumes the attention of its practitioners in their off-hours as much as teaching. You rarely take off the hat; it is a calling.

Jan and I babysat for my grandson Noah yesterday. The kid was delightful. At 20 months old, his command of words is becoming amazing. I now can understand well over half of what he says, and I look to Jan for help with the rest. Yesterday, we worked with him on saying “Go S.U.” to his great-grandmother on the phone (she’s a big fan), because the undefeated, top-ranked Syracuse University Orangemen are playing the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame in basketball this weekend.

When I play with Noah, I let him go, to explore up to the point where I think he’s beginning to endanger himself, and then we stop. Being safe is paramount. There’s plenty of time for him to learn.

I don’t think often enough about the subsequent consequences on his future behavior, and I’ve discovered that I can sometimes make mistakes. Jan, on the other hand, thinks about future consequences of current behavior and deals with it in a confidently firm but ultimately loving way. She has the soul of a teacher, she does, and I can think of no higher compliment.

Many, many thanks to all you teachers for your daily commitment to our children. Such a special gift you have. Be proud of your calling, of your skills, and above all, keep going for all of us in the world outside the classroom. There is much work to do. Thank you.

Jerry LaVaute is a special writer for Heritage Newspapers. He can be reached at glavaute@gmail.com or call 1-734-740-0062.