Uncategorized – Room N-9

The Night as Bright as Day!

By Larry Shurilla

I have a Christmas story to tell, retell actually. Growing up, I was always drawn to the wonderful stories surrounding the birth of Jesus: the extreme humility of a manger bed for a King, the desperation of His father, Joseph to find a room for His mother Mary’s labor to begin, guided wise men, earthly shepherds, and the triumphant song of a host of angels. More than magical, to me, these stories were sacred. When I was about 19 years of age, I first heard another story of Christmas. Let me share it with you now. The Night as Bright as Day!

The story begins in the ancient Americas with two distinct factions living on the land: the Nephites-descendants of a man named Nephi, and the Lamanites-descendants of his brother, Laman. The Nephites, generally, were believers in the coming of Christ and the Lamanites, largely, did not. As prophets do, one Samuel, a Lamanite who believed in the impending coming of the Messiah, stood upon a wall and exhorted all wickedness to end and proclaimed for the people to prepare for the coming of the Christ!

Samuel prophesied:

“Behold, I give unto you a sign; for five years more cometh, and behold, then cometh the Son of God to redeem all those who shall believe on his name.

“And behold, this will I give unto you for a sign at the time of his coming; for behold, there shall be great lights in heaven, insomuch that in the night before he cometh there shall be no darkness, insomuch that it shall appear unto man as if it was day.
Therefore, there shall be one day and a night and a day, as if it were one day and there were no night; and this shall be unto you for a sign; for ye shall know of the rising of the sun and also of its setting; therefore they shall know of a surety that there shall be two days and a night; nevertheless the night shall not be darkened; and it shall be the night before he is born.

“And behold, there shall a new star arise, such an one as ye never have beheld; and this also shall be a sign unto you.” (Helaman 14:2-5, The Book of Mormon-Another Testament of Jesus Christ)

It’s not often that a timetable is given for a miracle to happen. To the more wicked and unbelieving factions of the Nephites, from the moment of Samuel’s prophecy onward, the sign clock began to tick.

When the time drew near for this sign to occur or not, the evil faction of the Nephites convinced the government of their day to impose a law on the believers in the coming of Christ:

“ Now it came to pass that there was a day set apart by the unbelievers, that all those who believed in those traditions should be put to death except the sign should come to pass, which had been given by Samuel the prophet.” (3 Nephi 1:9)

Fearing for his people, another prophet, a descendent of the original Nephi, bowed down in mighty prayer all the day long before the mortal law was to be imposed, begging the Lord to save those who so faithfully awaited His coming. The Lord answered Nephi’s prayer:

“Lift up your head and be of good cheer; for behold, the time is at hand, and on this night shall the sign be given, and on the morrow come I into the world, to show unto the world that I will fulfil all that which I have caused to be spoken by the mouth of my holy prophets.” (3 Nephi 1:13)

At the time of the setting of the sun, the glory of the Lord was made manifest and the prophecy of Samuel was fulfilled:

“And it came to pass that the words which came unto Nephi were fulfilled, according as they had been spoken; for behold, at the going down of the sun there was no darkness; and the people began to be astonished because there was no darkness when the night came.

“And there were many, who had not believed the words of the prophets, who fell to the earth and became as if they were dead, for they knew that the great plan of destruction which they had laid for those who believed in the words of the prophets had been frustrated; for the sign which had been given was already at hand.

“And they began to know that the Son of God must shortly appear; yea, in fine, all the people upon the face of the whole earth from the west to the east, both in the land north and in the land south, were so exceedingly astonished that they fell to the earth.
“For they knew that the prophets had testified of these things for many years, and that the sign which had been given was already at hand; and they began to fear because of their iniquity and their unbelief.

“And it came to pass that there was no darkness in all that night, but it was as light as though it was mid-day. And it came to pass that the sun did rise in the morning again, according to its proper order; and they knew that it was the day that the Lord should be born, because of the sign which had been given.

“And it had come to pass, yea, all things, every whit, according to the words of the prophets.

“And it came to pass also that a new star did appear, according to the word.”
(3 Nephi 1:15-21)

A Night as Bright as Day! Could there be a more appropriate sign of the coming of the Son of God to the earth than a night wherein all darkness was dispelled? The baby Jesus brought the light of His Gospel to the earth, to a stable, even as a single candle illuminates a darkened room. His room was now the earth and darkness retreated to the shadows forevermore.

There is my Christmas story. Have you ever heard of it before? A story any member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is well familiar with and holds dear. Could it have really happened? A Night as Bright as Day?! Or is this just another tale of Christmas? I, for one, choose to believe and for me, each Christmas Eve shines ever brighter.

Merry Christmas Friends! May your days be merry and truly bright, as bright as that wonderful night! May the love and light Mary felt when she first gazed into her baby’s eyes shine brightly in you and yours, this Christmas and always.

Room N-9 Is Finally Available!!

After years of waiting, Room N-9, Lessons of Life from Behind the Classroom Door, is now available to the public! Veteran public-school educator, Larry Shurilla, opens his classroom door and gives you a front row seat. With stories of students honoring veterans, kids helping kids, teacher pranks, the learning and emotionally disabled, classroom lockdowns, school violence, the growth of student athletes, and the haunting specter of a student’s death, Mr. Shurilla uses self-deprecating wit and wisdom garnered from thirty-one years of public-school classroom experience to wield a wide brush when painting the transforming scene of public education.

Mr. Shurilla has said, “Being a classroom teacher is a front-line occupation and some of my stories are raw, because they’re real and some of them are beautiful, because the human spirit cannot be suppressed. You’ll have a hard time believing some of these events actually occurred, but I assure you, they did.”

Like the dedication of Room N-9 suggests, “For the joy we see in those faces we teach each day and the hope we won’t see certain faces at night,” Mr. Shurilla uses humor and descriptive storytelling to share with us his greatest lessons of life learned from the noblest of professions-teaching!

Room N-9, Lessons of Life from Behind the Classroom Door, is a 125-page nonfiction book available from Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Room-N-9-Lessons-Behind-Classroom/dp/1937735303/ref=sr_1_10?crid=JBB2PMHWIDS8&keywords=Room+N-9&qid=1654554741&sprefix=room+n-9%2Caps%2C84&sr=8-10

and from Digital Legend Press:

https://www.digitalegend.com/catalog/product_info.php?products_id=421

Room N-9 is currently available in paperback and ebook formats, but will soon be available in audiobook format. Click on one of the links provided and secure your copy today!

PRAISE FOR THE AUTHOR OF ROOM N-9

“Larry’s ability to uncover broadly applicable insights from a school environment, coupled with his compelling writing style–– simple yet pro- found; with both pathos and humor, and all in between––will grab the attention of anyone from one aspiring to teach, an incumbent teacher, a student, a school principle, a house-wife, a businessman, and even to a corporate president. “
—Dr. D. H. (Dee) Groberg, Founder and Vice President of International Operations at Franklin-Covey Consultants

“You brought to life the middle school classrooms and life of these young people. You also give such an honest picture of being a teacher for many years. This is a valuable read for any current teacher, but also important for any future educator to read and comprehend. I have to say there was great emotion in ‘Uncle Larry’ and in the ‘Flying Tank.’”
—Dr. Keith Marty, Superintendent Parkway School District, St. Louis, Missouri

“I’ve known Larry Shurilla for over 30 years and whenever I get to- gether with him I can always count on hearing a great story. I was excited to finally read Larry’s classroom and coaching stories as well as his teacher escapades in the middle school where I once held a basketball clinic with his 6th grade classes. Larry has the ability to turn a walk down the canned food aisle of a grocery store into a memorable and classic story.”
—Fred Roberts, 12-year NBA Veteran and Educator

“A must read for anyone in the world of education. Room N-9: Lessons of Life From Behind the Classroom Door will have you running the gamut of emotions from pure laughter and joy to gratitude and compassion for all that is the profession of teaching. A truly rare peak at the rollercoaster ride that is education and the amazing impact a teacher can have on so many.”
—Cathy Kaiser-Drago, K-12 Instructional Coach, Hamilton School District, Sussex, Wisconsin

A dynamic speaker, Mr. Shurilla would love to come to your district or school and inspire your teachers! Email him at: tubalothe@icloud.com

The Story of The Good Shepherd Song

By Larry Shurilla

As I was rocking my granddaughter, Aleah, to sleep one night in July, 2019, we were singing from the song, Baptism, by Gabbott and Gates:

“Jesus came to John the Baptist,

In Judea long ago,

And was baptized by immersion

In the river Jordan’s flow.”

After the song I said to Aleah, “We need more Jesus songs! We need a song about the Good Shepherd finding the lost sheep! Let’s try singing one.”

The words and the tune to the first verse just came easily into my mind. I sang:

“The Good Shepherd loves His sheep

He will feed and guide them.

When a lamb is lost and cold

He will find and bring him home.”

I soon laid Aleah down to sleep and headed to my laptop to capture the words and tune before I forgot them. After typing the first verse, I thought, “I need to read through the scriptures to remember more from the The Good Shepherd story, so I can write more to the song.”

I then read from Matthew 18:12-14 and John Chapter 10. Two more verses again came so easily. I truly felt inspired! My prayer had been answered. I now had another song about Jesus that Aleah and I could sing at bedtime.

The next day I sang the song to my daughter, Chelsea, Aleah, and my wife, Kathy. They all said they loved the song, but Kathy added, “Couldn’t you make the second part a bit more complex? I think it would really make it even better.”

I said, “I’ll consider that.” The next day, on my morning drive to work, I started singing the song and the change to the second verse came quickly and I really liked the change. It seemed to complete the song and make it even more spiritual. When I got home I sang the song again with the changes and everyone loved it. Right then I asked my daughter, who was a piano performance major at Brigham Young University and was currently in the middle of studying for finals in her nursing classes in Milwaukee, “Chelsea, if you can add an intro to this song and connect the verses and write down the music, I will pay you $100!”

She replied, “No, Dad. I’ll do it for nothing.”

“No,” I said. “You are studying like crazy for your finals and you don’t need this extra burden. This is a special request and I really want to get it done now.”

Chelsea relented and said, “OK, Dad, but only if you take the $100 off what I owe you.”

“Deal!”

Chelsea’s piano expertise always astounded me. It only took her about an hour of playing on her piano when she called me up to her room and played the completed song!

“Perfect!” I beamed.

Being our church’s childrens’ primary chorister, I gained permission from our bishop to play the song in our upcoming primary program. Chelsea was the primary pianist, (a daddy/daughter duo!) so, for the next two Sundays, we practiced The Good Shepherd with the kids, and all who heard it, loved it. The message is so simple, so hopeful, so loving. The one, is so important to our Heavenly Father and sometimes we, ourselves, become the one. The one that is struggling. The one that feels lost. The Savior taught us to love one another, like the Good Shepherd cares for each in His flock.

Then the unthinkable happened. My beautiful daughter, who had battled mental illness for over 6 years, took her own life. We were shattered and heartbroken. As a father, I can’t begin to describe the waves of despair that continually washed over me. Funeral obligations and decisions demanded to be made and we planned how best to put our sweet daughter to rest. As part of the funeral held in our chapel, I thought it proper and needful to have our primary kids sing the last song Chelsea rehearsed with them, the last song she played for them-The Good Shepherd.

On the day of the funeral, I conducted the Primary kids, along with Aleah, and Chelsea’s niece, Aluinn, and nephew, Mads, to The Good Shepherd. My eyes were pretty blurry throughout the whole song, but I can still see some of the Primary kids with tears in their own eyes singing for Chelsea. It was a beautiful moment- a moment like my former mission President, Delbert H. Groberg, described as, “a drop of unsurpassed sweetness,” brought on by a parent’s ultimate tragedy. A few weeks later, in our Primary Sacrament Meeting, the kids sang The Good Shepherd as their final song in the program. Once again, I could barely see as I conducted these beautiful children in their musical expression of love to their former pianist, sister, and friend. Time will tell what will become of this song, but for a moment here in our family and church ward, it has been The Balm of Gilead.

The Good Shepherd

By Larry and Chelsea Shurilla

The Good Shepherd loves His sheep

He will feed and guide them

When a lamb is lost and cold

He will find and bring him home

If someday I lose my way

Jesus won’t forget me

He will teach and send His friends

They will find and bring me home

The Good Shepherd knows His Sheep

He would die to save them

When He calls they know His voice

And they know He loves them so

###

Click on the button below to listen to The Good Shepherd, as Chelsea accompanied the church Primary children at her last practice.

The Red Skeleton

By Larry Shurilla

It began simply enough, but then again, most disasters, manmade or natural, usually do. He came dressed in a hobo outfit under the guise of a circus custodian-a clown if you will, but this clown was known as The Red Skeleton. His deceptively simple act of meandering to the center of the third darkened ring, mop slung over shoulder, lured one into thinking this was just another end-of-the-show clean-up act. A time to get up out of your caramel popcorn coated seat and head to the exits, but then the unthinkable began.

After the mop was randomly flopped down, this “clown” began to sweep the remaining spotlight residue in a curious circular motion. By some diabolical means, unbeknownst just men and women, this witchlike stirring began to extinguish the light! Swish by swish and swash by swash, the once bright circle of floodlight began to diminish, and like a receding hairline, soon all that remained of the brightly illuminated floor was a bright tuft in the very center of the ring.

The Red Skeleton then revealed his blackhole of a soul when he paused, resting his chin on the top of his malicious “mop,” tilted his head toward the stunned circus crowd and with his painted-on smile bared a toothless grin and whispered, “Good night, folks!”

Grabbing his broom-mop, with one final swish-thrust, The Red Skeleton killed the last sparkle of light and left our world with the lone lesser half of creation-darkness. His heist complete, the last glint of light goblined away, The Red Skeleton disappeared into that enveloping darkness from which he…

“Hey Larry!”
“What?! What’dya want, Paul? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“You do know it’s Red Skelton, not Skeleton, right? And wasn’t it Carol Burnett who did that light mopping bit, anyway?”
“Yeah, Yeah, just go back to your Fortnite, Paul. Happy Halloween, blah, blah, blah…”

…and The Red Skeleton vanished into that darkest void from which he sprang, hobo suit, mystical mop, weathered hat, well burned cigar and all.

A Daughter’s Love

By Larry Shurilla

Every so often in a person’s lifetime, someone does something so profoundly good, you just have to step back and take in the moment or in this case a season of love. You see, my wife was spending many early mornings sleepless, staring at the ceiling. Finally, she tapped me on the shoulder one day and said, “What do you think about having my mother come live with us?”

“Oh! Look at that!”
“I love you a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.” “Remember Frannie? You used to say that to Kathy all the time when she was growing up! That’s why she got that picture for you.”

I’ve heard this question before, with her dad. When her mom broke her back a few years ago and went into the hospital and extended assisted living, her dad couldn’t handle it alone, so he came to live with us for about nine months. “Sure,” I said, “but do you think we can handle it?” I knew the answer before I asked, but I had to say it anyway. There is nothing my wife cannot handle when she sets her mind to it and I knew her mind was set-cast iron rebar in concrete set.

“Oh! Look at all those pictures!”
“That’s you, Frannie, in the middle looking gorgeous and there’s your brother, Uncle Jim. Who’s that?”
“That’s my mom and dad and is that Kathy?!”
“Yeah, that’s Kathy and Barb and Brad and David.”
“Oh boy. And there’s Chuck and I.”

I won’t chronicle all the hours spent planning, internet searching, living room measuring and price comparing, but suffice it to say that colors, textures, and flat vs glossy does matter. Kathy felt the clock ticking loudly and anxiously said, “We’ve got to get her out of that Healthcare Center. I want her last days to be spent with us. Where she can be watched over and feel at home.”

“God grant me the serenity…the courage…the wisdom…”
“Why did you pick that picture, Kathy?”
“My mom always liked that poem.”

So the preparation began. Moving furniture, painting, hanging doors, drilling holes for cable TV, buying bed linens and clothes, table and ceiling lamps, tables, chairs, a dresser, a DVD player, hard-of-hearing speakers, china plates, etc. “I’ll borrow my brother’s truck to move her hospital bed and lift chair and Uncle Fred will help assembling the dresser and tables and hanging the doors. Fred and I can handle moving the big stuff, Kath.”

“Is that my dad’s flag?”
“No, Fran. That’s Chuck’s flag that was given to him by the Navy at his funeral for service in World War II.”

The social workers and nursing staff came to the house and inspected it to offer suggestions on safety for Fran. “You better secure that cabinet to the wall in the bathroom. Fran uses it a lot to keep her balance. The tub handle and shower wall grab bars look good as does the removeable shower sprayer and no-slip grips on the bathtub floor.”

“Oh, she’ll like that plant hanging in the corner. I got it from her room in the nursing home and replanted it.”

Chuck and Fran were long-time Milwaukee Brewers’ fans and the day she moved in the Brew Crew brought her a playoff victory! Kathy mused, “My dad would’ve loved to see the Brewers doing so well this year. I guess he’ll just have to be the angel in the outfield, tripping opponents as they round third!”

“May the road rise up to greet you…May the sun shine warm upon your back…”
“I matted that poem to get the color just right. That’s another one of her favorite poems.”

With the nightlights positioned, the stairs’ gate secured, Fran escorted in her walker to the bathroom, changed, and all the medicines given and swallowed, maybe now Kathy can take a rest, for a minute or two anyway.

“Why that particular picture of Jesus, Kath?”
“I just know she’ll like it.”

Every now and then, someone does something so profoundly good, you just have to step back and take her in. Thank you, Kathy, for being the quiet hero of integrity and offering the grand gift of dignity to your mother, who you’ve watched diminish over these past few years and who doesn’t quite get it, but will someday.
There is a big black sign high up on the flat Navajo-white wall in Frannie’s room that reads, “Family.” And if you look closely, there are signs just about everywhere else that read, “You are loved.”

Live Long and Prosper

By Larry Shurilla

“A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP”

This was the final tweet from the actor, Leonard Nimoy, better known as television’s Mr. Spock from Star Trek-The Original Series. The quote is also quite representative of teaching. This book is like my garden and the flowers are my teaching memories, preserved for anyone inclined to check them out! If you ask any of my students what my favorite television program of all time is, you’ll get a resounding “Star Trek!” for an answer.

As a seven-year-old boy, there I was that Thursday night in September of 1966 at 7 o’clock, eyes glued to Channel 4 on the TV, for the very first episode of Star Trek! My brothers and I were Sci-Fi fanatics. We watched Lost in Space, The Outer Limits, Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea and any cheap space movie we could tune our three channels to! Star Trek, with its phasers, star ships, communicators, tricorders, transporters, and photon torpedoes, looked to be a potent cocktail for any thirsty Sci-Fi fan and it did not disappoint! We absolutely loved it and haven’t stopped loving it for over 50 years!

With about 6 years left in my teaching career, I thought it was time to try something new at our middle school. I decided to organize a Science Fiction Club! I don’t believe I ever heard of any other middle school having a Sci-Fi Club before, but having had so many conversations with kids about Sci-Fi topics in my classroom, I knew there was a niche for this sort of thing.

So, I talked to the associate principal in charge of clubs and he agreed this club just might work! I got to work and made a few morning announcements plugging the club with talk of Star Trek, Star Wars, and classic Sci-fi movies like Forbidden Planet and This Island Earth.

I believe we started out with about 6 or 7 members and by the fifth year we had about 25 with a good mix of boys and girls! I structured the club with a fair chunk of time for discussion about any Sci-Fi topic the kids were interested in followed by time to play a card game called, Star Trek Uno, and then on to the viewing of classic Star Trek TV episodes and timeless Sci-Fi movies.

My main goals as Club Advisor were: give kids opportunities to make friends with others who had the same interests, give them an outlet for group discussions about things they loved and ultimately give them a little more sense of belonging in the middle school, which can be a pretty frightening place when you’re in the tween years! It was also my job to share with the kids my personal history with and knowledge of Sci-Fi and then they could use that as a base to see how Sci-Fi has evolved and morphed over the years.

I must say, the club was a lot of fun. We had some very heated discussions over: Which was the best Star Wars’ movie?, What’s better-Star Trek or Star Wars?, Who is the best Dr. Who’ doctor?, What other plots exist in the Star Wars and Star Trek universe of books, games, and online websites? Who is the best Star Trek Captain? (Kirk, of course!) and so on!

Being a science teacher, my love of Star Trek was also useful in the classroom. How could a discussion of technological progress in the world not include Star Trek and its vision of the future? Desktop computers, view screens and cordless communicators were all present in fiction before they were in reality. Star Trek’s harmonious blend of races working together, without prejudice and stereotyping, toward a common goal was also a fine projection of what the future could become and that is as important now as it was in the 1960s! I always told the kids in my science classes, “If we can think of it, we can create it! The world needs dreamers and doers who work together to better our world. Whether we’ve made the problem ourselves, like what to do with nuclear waste and plastic in the oceans, or the problem has existed for centuries, like cancer or how to achieve sustainable powered flight (Thank you Wilbur and Orville Wright!), there is no problem we cannot overcome with persistent effort, use of the technology of the day, and vision.”

We’re often told as educators that we need to keep the minds of our children open, flexible, and trained with problem solving skills. Appropriate Science Fiction naturally leads our kids into these areas of the mind. We often get so caught up with the latest teaching technique fad that we lose sight of, what is to me, the most important component of teaching – motivation! If you have it, you can accomplish anything and without it, you will accomplish nothing. Kids can be lazy or overwhelmed. Kids can be unable or unchallenged. These are some of the problems teachers face every day with kids in the same classroom trying to learn the same material. I have no magic solution here, but I will repeat, if you have a motivated student, you can accomplish anything and if you have an unmotivated student, you will accomplish nothing. Let us work on how to better motivate students by providing a safe and interesting classroom environment. I have also found that bringing science fiction into the classroom can help motivate many of our students.

Having taught for 31 years, I get the great pendulum of education. How certain disciplinary techniques, philosophies, and teaching pedagogies come into fashion and then, not too many years later, are branded as the worst methodology in history- until the pendulum swings back and we do it all over again! I am reminded of Heidi Klum on Project Runway, a competitive fashion designing television show, and what she says each week to her fashion designers, “Designers. One week you are in, and the next, you are out!” And thus, it seems to be in education. One week, Robert Marzano, you are in, and the next week, Madeline Hunter, you are out! This swinging pendulum may be why we see more experienced teachers become so rigid in their unwillingness to change, because they’ve already been through multiple teaching fads and just want to rely on what has truly worked for them in their classrooms. Perhaps an attitude of, “Keep the best, throw out the rest!” may prove the most beneficial to teachers of all ages and experience levels.

If you’re a science teacher, try bringing a little science fiction into your classroom and see if it doesn’t amp up the motivation for a lot of your students. A two-minute movie clip showing a Star Ship extinguishing an active volcano with a cold fusion detonator, is a great way to introduce an earth science lesson on volcanology! It may not be included in a Smart Board lesson plan or textbook, but it may motivate a majority of your students to actually listen to what you’re talking about!

Finally, here’s an unexpected bonus to bringing Sci-Fi into the classroom! One of the most creative home-made cards given to me for retirement by one of my students read as follows:

(On the Cover)

What’s the
best way to say
Goodbye
and happy retirement
to your favorite
Science
teacher?

(Next page)

To Infinity and
beyond!

No that’s buzz
lightyear.

May the force
be with
yo-
No still doesn’t sound
right.

(Next page)

Larry, I am your
Fath-
No, I’m not your Father
and that’s still not
it.

I’ve got it….

(Last page)

Live Long
and
Prosper!

From: Your Awesome Student

Now that’s boldly going where no student has gone before! Truly, this card was a formative assessment indicating this student has been well taught in the annals of the purest science fiction!

A few days ago, I saw a tee shirt of a Peanuts’ cartoon with Charlie Brown, head bowed down in depression, and Violet standing a step or two behind him. The bubble caption read, “I still miss Leonard Nimoy.” My feelings exactly. Even the most magnificent of flowers seem only to last a moment in time, but therein lies part of their magic. That moment is so alive, so precious, and may live on in our memories, forever.

#LLAP, my old friend.

Uncle Larry

By Larry Shurilla

As teachers, we get called lots of names. Many of which I cannot print, but those are usually shouted in outbursts when a student has really lost it and you’ll only hear them once in a blue moon. I usually heard, “Mr. Shurilla, Mr. S or Coach,” all my years of teaching, but every once in a while, a kid would get ahold of your first name. Now, I do understand there are a few teachers that don’t mind it and actually prefer to have their students address them by their first name, but I always thought I needed that wall of professionalism that a Mr. or Mrs. Something provided. I didn’t want to get too chummy-chummy with the kids and hearing a “Hey, Larry!” from a kid in the back of the classroom was, to me, as bad as scratching your fingernails on a chalkboard or chewing on aluminum foil! Give me Liberty, Death, or Mr. S, but don’t you dare call me Larry!

Somewhere in the middle of my career, I had the fortune of teaching three inseparable girls. Let’s call them Ally, Bella, and Kate. You know the type. They were always together in class, at lunch, in the halls, by their lockers-inseparable. They were also very bright and fun loving. They would get the giggles at almost anything and were so good natured that you just couldn’t get mad at them. They would get the jokes your other kids wouldn’t and were kind to everyone.

As luck would have it, one day some teacher must’ve been talking to me by my desk and said something like, “So Larry, when are you gonna get to Mixed Numbers in math?” or something like that. Bing! Bing! Bong! The ears on Ally shot up like a cat when you shake a Friskies’ box and she said with a crazed look of delight shining in her eyes, “Mr. S? Your name is Larry?!”

“Well, what am I going to say now?” I thought. She heard it. I’m not going to lie about my name, so I said, “Yeah, Ally, that’s my first name.”

Mistake. I should’ve lied. The name spread faster than a viral gagging cat YouTube video between the three and they kept using it! “Larry this” and “Larry that” until finally, I had to get serious with them and said, “Now look girls, you can’t keep calling me, Larry. We have to keep things a bit more professional in a school setting. That’s just how it is.”

They huddled up for a moment and then one of them said, staring at me with big eyes like the cat from Shrek, “Can we call you, Uncle Larry, then?”

This book is about confessions, successes, and mistakes, right? Mistake number two. I just couldn’t say no! So, I said, “OK, you can call me Uncle Larry, but only if other kids aren’t around and only once in a long while, OK?”

Needless to say, the girls were ecstatic and after about two microseconds, I realized that this could really go south fast. Imagine me teaching something in class and the principal drops in for a beloved observation and Bella or Kate goes, “Uncle Larry, do we have to do the evens or the odd problems for homework?”

The principal turns her head toward me and mumbles, “Uncle Larry? A bit informal aren’t we, Mister Shurilla? Why don’t you come down to my office after class and we’ll have a little chat with the HR-Director.”

Well, something like that scenario never happened! The girls were true to their word and only every now and then would I hear the two sacred words pronounced. I can still picture, Kate, waiting at the classroom door until all the other students had left and whispering, “Bye, Uncle Larry,” and then scooting out the door to meet up with her friends for lunch.

Time marches on. If you think it doesn’t, just try backing it up one second! You may wish it would go faster, but it never slows down, stops or goes into reverse. Time relentlessly moves forward and no power yet invented can change that. Whether you’re having a good year and you want to teach that class forever or you’ve got a group of Satan’s spawn and can’t wait to bless the 7th grade teachers with Children of the Corn, you only have them for one year and they move on to the next grade.

When you teach for more than thirty years an awful lot of things can happen to those kids. Some good. Some bad. And all the kids grow up. You see your students move on to 7th and 8th grade and then on to high school. You may see a picture of them in the district newsletter, run into them at the grocery store, or hear about their accomplishments from their parents or siblings, but nothing, no nothing can prepare you for the moment when you hear that one of your former kids is going to die.

Cancer does its deadly drop-ins to households indiscriminately. There are no protections on the homes of the young and innocent. One day, about four years after we taught her, we heard Kate was dying of cancer. Time was a blur after we were informed and suddenly Kate had passed, the funeral was set, and we, a group of her old 6th grade teachers, went to the church to pay our final respects. The death of one so young, so full of life seemed insidious. She was in the bloom of life and had so much to look forward to!

There was a long line of friends and loved ones that weekday evening at the church. Kate had touched many people in the community and everyone there wanted to show they cared. As I looked around the church, at all the friendly people quietly talking to each other, the beautiful flowers, the family gathered around the casket, I couldn’t help thinking this shouldn’t be happening. We should be here for Kate’s wedding, not a funeral, but I also felt an unmistakable feeling of love and gratitude that though her life was short, it was filled with love.

Soon we were shaking hands with Kate’s parents and expressing our sympathies when we spied Ally and Bella near the end of the family line. As we drew close, we formed a group hug, the old 6th grade teachers and our two former students. I don’t recall exactly what we said, but it wasn’t much, just that we cared. We held onto each other for a moment or two longer and then Ally squeaked out two of the sweetest words I have ever heard in my life. With tears in her eyes and a smile on her face she quickly whispered, “Uncle Larry.”

Room N-9 Introduction – Becky

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 6^th 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

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.

Hello WebWorld! The Bell Ringer

Welcome to Room N-9! My name is Larry Shurilla and I was a middle school teacher for 31 years and spent many of them in Room N-9! I have stories I wish to share, some about teaching, some historical fiction, some war stories, and some are just about life. Come on into Room N-9 and listen, I mean read, a story or two I have to tell. I begin with: The Bell Ringer

The Bell Ringer
By Larry Shurilla

As I showed up for my two-hour stint at bell-ringing for the Salvation Army, I thought there’d be snow and Christmas carols wafting through the Walmart parking lot, but it turned out oddly warm and sunny for a Saturday morning in December! I’d wanted to do this for years, but busy schedules and not enough charity in my heart kept me from getting it done. I’m just an average Joe, living pay check to pay check, but I know so many people who are hurting and have it much worse than I do. So, I just wanted to do something. If ringing a bell during the Christmas season helps kindle the charity I’ve been lacking in others, then I guess it’s a worthwhile venture.

After meeting my set-up man and donning my gay apparel (a blue Salvation Army apron, a wooden paint mixing stick for stuffing stubborn bills into the red kettle, and small wooden handled metal bell), I was ready to ring my bell and hopefully draw the kind-hearted and financially able among us toward the red kettle of relief for the poor and disabled. I’ve always been on the other side of the red bucket-feeling guilty if I didn’t have any money to give or trying not to make eye contact. Now I kept thinking, “Hey! Give if you can, but God Bless You if you can’t!”

It wasn’t long and I had my first customer-a nice looking lady who put a folded bill in the kettle and said, “God bless you!”

“God bless you, Ma’am! Merry Christmas and thank you for helping those in need.”

A well-dressed man with a fresh trendy hair-cut, walks up and puts a bunch of pennies in the bucket. “It’s all I had in the car, sorry!”

“Thank you, Sir, and God Bless!”

Soon a middle-aged man with slicked hair walks up chuckling, and asks, “Aren’t you afraid someone’s gonna rob your bucket?”

“No, I think the Lord will protect. Merry Christmas!”

A young, well-dressed couple comes over and the guy says, “Man, you just looked so cool standing there, we had to come over and give something!”

“Must be my Green Bay Packer hat! Thank you so much. God bless you and Merry Christmas.”

A large man, riding a store scooter, hands his daughter a bill and motions for her to go put it into the kettle. She comes dancing up to the red bucket, braids flopping, and smiles as she puts the bill into the kettle.

“Thank you and Merry Christmas, young lady!”

When she gets to her car, she waves at me from the passenger window.

A messy-haired man dressed in oversized sweat pants, walking stiltedly with a cane, makes his way slowly to the kettle and carefully puts in a handful of change.

“God bless you and thank you for donating to someone in need.”

A mom shows her little girl how to put money in the red bucket. The child just can’t get the bills in, so I help her out, fold the bills, and with the paint stick push them all down into the kettle.

“God bless you and thank you! Merry Christmas!”

During the first hour of bell-ringing, I experiment on ways to ring the bell with the most clarity and expending the least amount of energy. I discover holding either hand straight down and flicking my wrist ever so gently produces great volume and a fast bell-ringing tremolo. I wonder if I should write a pamphlet on bell-ringing tips for the Salvation Army. Ah, better not. No one would read it. Not even me.

A large family waits near the store entrance, all smiling, while their little girl comes and tries to put a dollar into the bucket. Thank the Lord for that paint stick!

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart! Thank you and Merry Christmas!”

That cute little girl with the tight braids keeps waving at me from her car.

An older gentleman with a belly Santa would be proud of, asks, “Don’t you think you should be carrying a gun in this day and age?”

“No, Sir! I think I’ll be all right without one. I’ve got my bell here, though, if I need it!”

I notice a kind looking elderly lady, seated in a mobile wheelchair, head permanently bent, fumbling with a flip-phone in the entryway to the store. I walk up to her and say, “You need some help, Ma’am? That phone looks like it’s giving you fits!”

“I’m waiting for the transit bus and they won’t answer their phone!”

“Let me give it a try.” The phone actually worked, but all I got was a recorded message from the bus company saying they were experiencing difficulties and couldn’t answer any calls right now. Please call again later. I went outside and looked down the front of the store and saw a small white bus parked at the other entrance. “Maybe that’s your bus, Ma’am?” Another gentleman who had joined us said he’d go down and check to see if that was her bus. In a minute, he was waving for me to bring the lady down. Another guy was already pushing her and it was, in fact, her bus. She was so appreciative of the help.

A dad with two sons, walk up to the kettle. One of the boys, fiddles in his pocket, pulls out some change and puts it into the bucket. The dad rustles his boy’s hair and they all walk into the store.

An attractive lady in black spandex, running shoes, and a white coat walks past me, loaded with presents and gets into her black Escalade. She looks really frazzled.

A WWII vet wearing a Navy cruiser cap, walks up with a folded $10, puts it in the red bucket and says, “God bless you.”

“God Bless you, Sir. Thank you and Merry Christmas.”

As my bell-ringing shift draws to a close, I marvel at the kindness, generosity and diversity of all the wonderful people I just met, however briefly, and had the privilege of thanking. It’s not every day you get to say, “God bless you! Thank you! And Merry Christmas!” to people you’ve never met before and may never see again. People just trying to make it day-to-day, yet still helping their brothers and sisters in need.

As you were reading this narrative, how did you picture the ladies and gentlemen? Were they Black or White? Hmong or Native American? Liberal or Conservative? I purposely left out certain physical characteristics because I felt they didn’t matter. I left it up to your own imagination to see these people in your mind and perhaps, see yourself in the actions of others. All the events were true and the people were so diverse and yet, there was one common feature. They all gave selflessly in hopes of helping someone, somewhere, feel a little better. They all knew it wasn’t much, but it was the best they could do that day. They knew that a little help from a lot is a lot of help and that the spirit of Christmas is the spirit of love.

Finally, as I drove away and looked back at the new bell ringer, I wondered what the response would be like from people like you and me, if, instead of a blue apron and hand bell, the bell ringer wore a flowing white garment and carried a shepherd’s staff?

BellRinger