I want to start this post by saying something teachers
don’t hear enough of, that teachers
matter. This message of hope is
clouded in the realities of standardization, high stakes assessments, program
disinvestment and teacher accountability.
How do I know that teachers matter? I know because they showed me
so.
Growing up my dad, mother, and three siblings lived in the
upstairs of my grandma’s house on West 117th and Lorain in Cleveland.
My mom was unable to work, and my dad fought everyday to keep what
we had. For middle school, I attended
Cleveland’s Carl F. Shuler and later Wilbur Wright Middle School. At both schools, I was frequently absent
and really didn't "like" school. Of course, this reflected poorly and
I didn’t do well academically. No one in
my family ever graduated from college, and both my older brother and
younger sister would latter drop out of school all together (even though I couldn't be prouder of them and both would latter go back for their GED). Where I lived, I knew no one
with a college degree as very few people even graduated from high school. 
With the odds stacked against millions of youth in low-income households,
again, I want to reiterate teachers matter. As a high school student at
John Marshall High School, I was put on the “let’s hope and pray this kid
graduates track”, as I still struggled with attendance. Marshall required students to take at least
one year of foreign language. I
remembered my older brother saying something about a “cool” tattooed French teacher
he had, and I decided to take French over the alternative Spanish course. On the first day of French class, I walked
in and behold it wasn’t the “cool” teacher my brother had described. This teacher had no tattoos and was very
organized. Mrs. Rae (the instructor) had
placed name tags on the desk for every student. Mind you, there were over thirty
kids in this one class. In fact, throughout the entire first day of class she
actually called us by our first name.
This was quite an accomplishment as most of my classes were large (think
kids sitting on tables and heating fixtures large), and you could tell that
most teachers were just trying to survive on the first day. But Mrs. Rae seemed uncannily calm,
collected, and reassuring. While it was
clear the course was going to be tough, she kept reiterating how she was going
to be there with us every step of the way.
In all honestly, I wasn’t a spectacular student in her
class. She sat me in the front near her desk, and I frequently found myself
dazing out. It was almost as if she was speaking a foreign language at
times. I remember her calling on me
during one class, and trying so hard not to mess up the pronunciation of
“Comment tally vous”. But of course, I
butchered the phrase and everyone laughed.
Later that night, I received one of the most surprising yet important
phone calls of my life. I remember the
phone ringing and my mom saying, “Ohh really. Wow, thank you for telling me and
this is good news. Do you want to talk
to Brad?” My mom passed me the phone,
and as to my surprise it was Mrs. Rae.
“Brad, I just wanted to call to let you and your mom know that you’re
doing a wonderful job in class. I’ll see you tomorrow.” My breath had been taken away and I was
stunned. Why didn’t she talk about my frequent absences, her having to move my
seat next to her desk, or my poor performance in class?
Later on in life, I would learn it was because Mrs. Rae knew
I had been told my whole life what I wouldn’t or couldn’t do but she wanted to
let me and my family to know what I could do.
To her, that phone call was an investment. It was an opportunity for her to say, “hey
Brad, you matter and can do anything you put your mind to”. After that phone call I tried- I tried like
hell to do better in her class. But, the subject just didn’t come easy for me
and I was definitely outshined by others in the class. My attendance was a
little bit better, and I found myself going the extra-mile to meet with Mrs.
Rae before and after class to get help on assignments. She knew I was struggling in class, and
throughout our conversations she learned more about me, my family, and the
challenges we faced.
I know that teachers matter and they can open
the world to their students. On May 19th,
1998, during the homeroom announcements, the school’s principal announced the
names of school-wide award recipients.
These awards were given to the really smart kids for highest GPA, most
likely to succeed, student of the year, and in other areas. Needless to say, during this announcement I
zoned out and paid little attention.
However, I’ll never forget when the school’s principal read “French
student of the year, Brad Maguth”. What? No Way? I was shocked, my friends were shocked, and yes,
so was my homeroom teacher. I knew that this had to be a mistake or some sort
of cruel prank. After homeroom, I went to
Mrs. Rae’s class to see what was going on.
Mrs. Rae congratulated me, and said that I was most
deserving of the award. She said that I had demonstrated the most progress
throughout the year, and that she was so proud of me. She also wanted me to
know that the award came with a $100 reward.
She handed me a check for $100 dollars.
This check had her name, personal address, and signature on it. I would later use this check for my university
housing deposit.
Despite my poor academic track record and my inconsistent
classroom performance, this teacher invested her time, per patience, her
money, and her sense of promise within me.
This teacher mattered, and I’ve carried and will carry that
investment with me forever.
