Teddy's letter came today, and now that I've read it, I
will place it in my cedar chest with the other things that are important
to my life. "I wanted you to be the first to know." I smiled as
I read the words he had written and my heart swelled with a pride I had
no right to feel.
I have not seen Teddy Stallard since he was a student in
my fifth grade class, fifteen years ago. It was early in my career, and
I had only been teaching for two years. From the first day he stepped into
my classroom, I disliked Teddy. Teachers (although everyone knows differently)
are not to show dislike for a child, any child.
Nevertheless, every year there are one or two children
that one cannot help but become attached to for teachers are human, and
it is human nature to like bright, pretty, intelligent people, whether they
are ten years old or twenty-five. And sometimes, not too often fortunately,
there will be one or two students to whom the teachers just can't relate.
I had thought myself quite capable of handling my personal
feelings along that line until Teddy walked into my life. There wasn't a
child that I particularly liked that year, but Teddy was most assuredly
one that I disliked.
He was dirty, not just occasionally, but all the time.
His hair hung over his ears, and he actually had to hold it out of his eyes
as he wrote his papers in class. (And this was before it was fashionable
to do so!) Too, he had a peculiar odor about him which I could never really
identify.
His physical faults were many, and his intellect left a
lot to be desired. By the end of the first week, I knew he was hopelessly
behind the others. Not only was he behind, he was just plain slow! I began
to withdraw from him immediately.
Any teacher will tell you that it is more of a pleasure
to teach a bright child. It is definitely more rewarding for one's ego.
But any teacher worth her credentials can channel work to the bright child,
keeping him challenged and learning while she puts her major effort on the
slower ones. Any teacher can do this. Most teachers do it, but I didn't,
not that year.
In fact, I concentrated on my best students and let the
others follow along as best they could. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I took
perverse pleasure in using my red pen, and each time I came to Teddy's papers,
the cross marks (and there were many) were always a little redder than necessary.
"Poor work!" I would write with a flourish.
While I didn't actually ridicule the boy, my attitude was
obviously quite apparent to the class, for he quickly became the class "goat,"
the outcast, the unlovable and the unloved. He knew I didn't like him, but
he didn't know why. Nor did I know, then or now, why I felt such an intense
dislike for him. All I know is that he was a little boy no one cared about,
and I made no effort on his behalf.
The days rolled by. We made it through the fall festival
and the Thanksgiving holidays, and I continued marking happily with my red
pen. As Christmas holidays approached, I knew that Teddy would never catch
up in time to be promoted to the sixth grade level. He would be a repeater.
To justify myself, I went to his cumulative folder and
from time to time looked it over. He had very low grades for the first four
years, but not grade failure. How he made it, I don't know. I closed my
mind to the personal remarks.
First Grade: "Teddy shows much promise by work and
attitude, but has a poor home situation."
Second Grade: "Teddy could do better. Mother terminally ill. He receives
little help at home."
Third Grade: "Teddy is a pleasant boy. Helpful, but too serious. Slow
learner. Mother passed at the end of the year."
Fourth Grade: "Very slow, but well behaved. Father shows little or
no interest."
Well, they passed him four times, but he will certainly repeat fifth grade!
Do him good! (I said to myself.)
And then the day before Christmas holidays arrived. Our
little tree on the reading table sported paper and popcorn chains. Many
gifts were heaped underneath waiting for the big moment. Teachers always
get several gifts at Christmas, but mine seemed bigger and more elaborate
than ever that year. There was not a student who had not brought me one.
Each unwrapping brought squeals of delight, and the proud giver would receive
effusive thank you's.
"For Miss Thompson - from Teddy," it read. The
group was completely silent and for the time I felt conspicuously embarrassed
because they all stood watching me unwrap that gift. As I removed the last
bit of masking tape, two items fell to my desk; a gaudy rhinestone bracelet
with several stones missing and a small bottle of dime store cologne-half
empty.
I could hear the snickers and whispers, and I wasn't sure
I could look at Teddy. "Isn't this lovely?" I said, placing the
bracelet on my wrist. "Teddy, would you help me fasten it?" He
smiled shyly as he fixed the clasp, and I held my wrist for all of them
to admire. There were a few hesitant oohs and aahs, but as I dabbed the
cologne behind my ear, all the little girls lined up for a dab behind their
ears.
I continued to open the gifts until I reached the bottom of the pile. We
ate our refreshments and then the bell rang. The children filed out with
shouts of "See you next year," and "Merry Christmas!"
But Teddy waited at his desk. When they had all left, he walked toward me,
clutching his gift and his books to his chest. "You smell just like
Mom," he said softly. "Her bracelet looks real pretty on you,
too. I'm glad you like it."
He left quickly. I locked the door, sat down at my desk
and wept, resolving to make up to Teddy what I had deliberately deprived
him of - a teacher who cared.
I stayed every afternoon with Teddy from the end of the
Christmas holidays until the last day of school. Sometimes we worked together.
Sometimes he worked alone while I drew up lesson plans or graded papers.
Slowly but surely he caught up with the rest of the class. Gradually there
was a definite upward curve in his grades. He did not have to repeat fifth
grade. In fact, his averages were among the highest in his class, and although
I knew he would be moving out of state when school got out, I was not worried
for him. Teddy had reached a level that would stand him in good stead the
following year no matter where he went. He had enjoyed a good measure of
success and as we were taught in our teaching training classes: Success
Builds Success.
I did not hear from Teddy until seven years later, when
his first letter appeared in my mailbox:
Dear Miss Thompson,
I just wanted you to be the first to know. I will be graduating second in my class next year.
Very truly yours,
Teddy Stallard
I sent him a card of congratulations and a small package,
a pen and pencil gift set. I wondered what he would do after graduation.
Four years later, Teddy's second letter came.
Dear Miss Thompson,
I wanted you to be the first to know. I was just informed I'll be graduating first in my class. The university has not been easy, but I enjoyed it.
Very truly yours,
Teddy Stallard
I sent him a good pair of sterling silver monogrammed cuff links and a card saying, "So proud of you I could burst."
And now today, Teddy's last letter came.
Dear Miss Thompson,
I wanted you to be the first to know. As of today, I am Theodore J. Stallard, M. D. How about that?!! I am going to be married, July 27th to be exact. I wanted to ask you if you would come and sit where Mom would sit if she were here. I will have no family there as Dad died last year.
Very truly yours,
Teddy Stallard
I am not sure of what kind of card one sends to a doctor
on completion of medical school and professional boards. Maybe I'll just
wait and take a wedding gift, but my congratulations can't wait.
Dear Ted,
Congratulations!! YOU made it and you did it yourself! In spite of those like me and because of us, this day finally came for you. God bless you. I'll be at that wedding with bells on!!!!
-Taken from Education in a Changing World