34th Thankful Thursday: Teachers

I am tickled pink to introduce you to my dear friend, Mary LeBlanc. Regal, warm, genius, Christian disciple and Dumbledore-esque are some words that come to mind (or were spontaneously typed) when I think of Mary. :) She has composed a delightful series of vignettes of her choice teachers and learning experiences. I am thankful for what Mary has taught me, and for this opportunity to share this remarkable Renaissance lady with you. --Ivy

Please share your questions, comments and own choice memories in the comments section below.

When Ivy first suggested that I consider writing a “guest column” for her Thankful Thursday posts, I had no idea what I might write about. There was so much to choose from, so many people, places and happenings for which I am thankful, and without which my life would have been altogether different. Where to begin? But eventually one idea floated to the top, namely the group of people whom I recall with gratitude primarily, though not exclusively, for the assorted things they taught me. And, in some cases, are still teaching me. Let me reminisce a bit.

My mother, to begin at the beginning, did me the enormous favor of teaching me to read before I started kindergarten.

When I was quite young, my grandmother came to live with us for a time, and taught me to embroider, an art in which she excelled and which I enjoyed. (I must admit, though, that she also tried to teach me to knit, but even on the simplest practice piece I could never manage to produce the same number of stitches in two rows beside each other, and eventually she gave up.)

I remember my third grade teacher, Sister Angelica, solely because during reading class, while the other 50+ students were doing something quietly at their desks, she would gather a small group of us around her desk, where she introduced us to blank verse and had us read Longfellow’s Song of Hiawatha.

When I was a bit older, the father of a neighborhood playmate (who was also the vice-principal of the high school, though that was of no concern to me at the time) took us into his garage, where he had a sink and a hot plate, and used an empty metal can with a screw top to demonstrate atmospheric pressure in a way that made a lasting impression on me. I have had the opportunity to repeat that demonstration for many other children since; if anyone wants details, just let me know.

Sister Eleanor, my teacher in North Carolina for 7th and 8th grade, taught us to diagram sentences, and left me with a lifelong love for the logic of language. And Sister Genevieve, who actually taught 3rd and 4th grade, taught us older students music theory, both modern and Gregorian.

When I began high school and was faced with choosing an elective from a list of options in some of which I had no interest and for the rest of which I was unqualified, the director of the orchestra allowed me to sign up and gave me my first cello lessons. Thanks to the start he gave me, I have had a lifetime of musical pleasure from the instrument, pursuing my study through several years of college and playing in various orchestras and chamber groups.

Long before I ever had a physics class, my father explained Archimedes’ principle and set me to work with his new, state-of-the-art analytic balance to determine the specific gravities of semiprecious stones, part of what he was supposed to do for a gemstone identification class he was taking just for fun. He found using the balance tedious; I found it fascinating. And I still have that balance, a dinosaur compared to modern laboratory equipment, but still good to a tenth of a milligram for those who have the patience to use it.

During the summer after my third year in high school, during which our class had read the first six books of the Aeneid, my Latin teacher invited me to come to her house every afternoon to read the other six with her. She, of course, did most of the work, but I still learned a great deal.

In college and through grad school I had more outstanding teachers than I can even begin to list. But one physics professor sticks in my memory as the result of two separate incidents. I met him first as the lecturer for beginning college physics, where one day he had set up in the lecture hall an amazingly attention-getting demonstration of regelation, perfectly timed to reach its climax just as his lecture ended. (I’ve had occasion to repeat that demonstration for other students, to equally good effect.) And later he taught electronics, occasionally looking in on the lab to answer questions. One day when the circuit I had put together was being flaky, I asked him to take a look. Watching the oscilloscope, he jumped up and down, bellowed at the top of his lungs, and then said quietly, “Microphonics.” And walked right out the door. But I guess nowadays people don’t spend their afternoons slaving over hot soldering irons…

Later, when I was working in Idaho Falls and renting a basement apartment, my kind landlady, a Mrs. Smith, invited me one day to share their Sunday dinner, which turned out to be roast duck. When I offered to be helpful, she asked me to make the gravy – and I had to admit I didn’t know how. I was promptly and kindly instructed in the art of making gravy from roast fowl, a lesson for which my own entire family continues to be grateful!

And for some years now I have been grateful to an ever-lengthening series of outstanding classics grad students, the earliest of whom taught me Greek and who, one after another before they went off to be professors elsewhere, have met with me and shared the pleasure of reading it, sharing, too, their own classical expertise and special interests.

I am thankful for all these people, and many more, who have taught me so many things, and in the process set me an example which I have tried to follow.