Room N-9
180 Days of Hell and Heaven
By Larry Shurilla
Introduction
The day will come to every classroom teacher, when he or she will take that final walk through their classroom. I’m not talking about the end of the school year, get ready for summer walk-through. That blitzkrieg happens every year with textbook check-ins, bulletin board dismantling, backing up computer files and stashing of desk minutia. No, I’m talking about the “Final Walk-Through”- the retirement walk-through, when you really won’t be back in that room you called home for X number of years. In my case, it was a 31year good bye.
I begin writing this reverie of my teaching career about 3 months after that final walk-through. The early September sun is beginning to set and I feel the time is right, while the memories are still fresh and school bus drivers are practicing their new routes, to put down in writing some of the most memorable days of my teaching career.
Charles Dickens, one of my favorite authors, began his book, A Tale of Two Cities, with the phrase, “It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.” Never to be compared to the eloquence of Dickens, yet unable to ignore the paradox of remembering the good with the bad, I chose to subtitle this memoir, 180 Days of Hell and Heaven.
Why 180 days? Aside from the inservice and school work days mandated each year, the typical teacher contract stipulates 180 student contact days in a school term. Hell, because teaching is tough. Working with difficult students, finicky administration and disgruntled parents is trying on anyone’s soul. I used to kid with my son that my Personal Teacher’s Hell would consist of a private viewing room, wherein I was strapped to a chair and forced to face a video screen which displayed spliced classroom scenes from every student I ignored in my teaching career! As other fellow teachers returned from Satan’s video booth, we would all ask each other, “How long was yours? Two weeks. How long was yours? A month. How long was yours?” I really tried not to ignore students when they wanted to share the news about their new hamster, or where they went over the weekend, or the game they won or lost, but we all know there comes a time when the other 27 are waiting and restless while we’re trying to accommodate-the one!
Teaching is Heaven because working with children is God’s choicest profession and oftentimes those few minutes we give to the one, connect us in a beautiful way, forever. Teaching is life. We even become part of family discussions at the dinner table for a year and sometimes more. “Mr. Shurilla ripped his pants on the playground today, Dad! Oh, Mom! Mr. Shurilla said he was ready for the nut house after teaching our class today!”
This writing will not be strictly chronological. Rather, as I think back on all those years of teaching, certain events will come to mind and I’ll share them to the best of my recollection. Oh, and I’m changing all the school related names, except my own! No one need fear, neither students nor fellow teachers, that I am talking about them or you! Of course, I will be talking about them and you, but I won’t be using your name and no one will know for sure.
If you’re a teacher and your classroom is anything like mine, I’m sure you could tell a story or two about the mementos you have cluttering your desk or plastering your walls. Oops, excuse me, not plastering. Masking tape or anything that really works on the walls was disallowed in my school years ago. Only blue painters’ tape or perhaps, the gummy stuff you roll into little balls is allowed now. OK, first confession. When my posters kept falling down for the fifth time after two weeks of school, I may have enlisted a roll of grey duct tape to permanently cement those Periodic Table Charts and Snoopy Inspirations onto the white classroom walls of 6th grade Room N-9! Phew! Glad I got that off my chest, but you won’t get it off my walls!
While I think anyone interested in chuckling, crying, observing or relating to the human experience may enjoy reading this book, I found that I was often thinking of new teachers as I wrote, envying them for the adventure that awaits, and wanting in some very small way, to impart lessons that have sunk into my muskmelon of a head!
In the end, these stories are my mementos, the ones I felt worth sharing. They line the walls of my heart and are gently placed on the desktop of my soul, where I can take a quick peek or pause and hold them dear and remember the faces and stories of my kids and friends who shared their lives with me. Now get going and start reading! I’ve just cracked open the door to room N-9 and the bell’s gonna ring any minute!
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Becky
I spent the first 10 years of my teaching career as a Learning Disabilities (LD) teacher. Learning Disabilities comes under the umbrella of Special Education nomenclature. ED (Emotional Disabilities), CD (Cognitive Disabilities), etc., are all labels I’m sure you’ve heard. Labels can be so prejudiced. As soon as we hear the label, we have the tendency to box that person and shelve them as wild, dull, lazy, brilliant, etc. Use a label if it helps you better understand a student, but never truly assess them until you’ve really gotten to know them. I think most teachers understand this; we’ve had so many kids that just didn’t fit the label.
Speaking of labels, I guess I do have an exception to justify the labeling of people and that would have to do with clothing labels. You see, my male teacher friends and I came up with a labeling system using clothing brand names to figuratively box ourselves and other teachers in. For example, my trendy teaching buddy who liked pressed clothes, expensive cologne and found a wrinkle in fabric to be offensive; he was labeled, Versace. Another dear friend, who was neat, organized and dependable was labeled, Nautica. I, myself, being a struggling parent of four, was allergic to an iron and found no problem wearing white socks with dark shoes. I was labeled, St. John’s Bay. Oh, Oh! Here comes Hilfiger and Ducks Unlimited, one too sophisticated and the other too-into-hunting for my taste! I am St. John’s Bay, after all! OK, enough of Project Runway-Label Edition, let’s get back to the kids.
As students, as people, as human beings, we all have gifts and we all have handicaps when compared to everyone else. My job, as a teacher, was to find my students’ gifts and help them use their strengths to succeed, to help prepare them for the workforce, but more importantly, to prepare them for life. That is a much bigger and nebulous set of criteria. Most teachers may hate labels, but for efficiency’s sake and to get kids the help they need, the labels serve a purpose. They provide funding to give kids extra support that simply wouldn’t be there without it. Once you’re out of school, those school labels seem to fade away and you’re judged more on how well you perform your job, not on an old classification. Certainly, the eternal labels of black and white, male and female, rich and poor, etc., will have to be dealt with in our society, but I’ve had many of my former LD students become great successes and a good share who have not, just like their regular education and gifted classmates. How you use your gifts to overcome your handicaps, how hard and consistent you are willing to work, how well you get along with others, these are traits that a productive person will always use to succeed and these are the attributes I tried to foster and instill in my students every day.
I’ve always had a soft spot when it came to kids who didn’t seem to fit in or who had a difficult time learning. I taught special education for 10 years and regular education for 21. Whether in our society in general or in a school setting, the haves have always picked on the have-nots. I hated teasing and bullying as a teacher and tried to protect my kids as best I could. I think there’ll be some video footage in my own teacher hell of me not noticing bullying in my classroom or hallway, or me not doing enough to stop it; but trust me, as teachers, we hate it. It hurts to see or know that one of your students is being bullied or picked on for whatever reason. We do all we can to empower kids on how to prevent, lessen, or stop bullying from happening and we take the bullies to task. We know they are hurting as well and intimidate others to lessen their own pain and inadequacies. As teachers, we must love the unlovable.
One day, as I was looking out my classroom window onto the playground during lunch recess, I noticed a student of mine, sitting all by herself on the edge of the sidewalk with a paperback in her hands. Hundreds of kids were running around her, laughing, playing tag. Others were in little groups, giggling and sharing stories. Some were on the grass playing touch football, but there she was, all alone, reading. It gave me pause to ponder. School was difficult for her, but she tried hard every day. At first glance, her teeth were too big, she was middle school awkward and some kids would make fun of her. This is the type of student I always tried to be extra kind to, give a little more attention to, give them a greater portion of my limited time bag. I wrote a poem about her. Of course, I’ve changed the name, but any two-syllable name will do. Becky, Jenny, Carly, you pick the name. There are Beckies on any playground, at any recess, in any school, on any day of the year.
Becky
By Larry Shurilla
Becky sits alone on the playground
And dreams about the friends she doesn’t have
Oh, she likes to read, about knights in shining armor
Movies starring heroes,
But the boys will notice braces more than smiles
Becky sits alone in the classroom
And dreams about what she would like to be
But learning’s kind of hard, she’ll never pass the bar
And her momma said, “Don’t set your hopes too high.”
Looks can be deceiving
Strength comes from believing that
The only one who beats you is yourself
Becky sits alone in the lunchroom
And tries to look away from nasty stares
Middle School is cruel, Where’s the Golden Rule?
And she wonders if the world holds one who cares
Looks can be deceiving
Strength comes from believing that
The only one who beats you is yourself
Becky sits alone on the playground
And notices that it’s a beautiful day
Sun shines warm and friendly, breezes blowing gently
Dry the single tear shed from her heart
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Every day, as teachers, we have a most important task to accomplish in our classrooms. You won’t find it in a list of objectives in a math or English teacher’s edition. You won’t be writing it on your whiteboard as a learning target, but look over that classroom of yours and find Becky. Find the one who looks the most lonely, the most forgotten, the most noticed for all the wrong reasons. Give her or him, your precious gift of time. Notice her. Tell her you need her to help you do something. Tell her with your words and smile that she is important and trusted. A few kind words and a smile can paint a rainbow in her soul that could last a lifetime.
Becky visited me in my classroom many years after I taught her. She had graduated college and was becoming very successful at her new job. She never knew I noticed her on the playground that one day so long ago, or that I wrote a poem about her, nor did she spot the smile in my heart that she had become a beautiful, competent, caring young adult.
