Recently Jacqueline commented on my daughter’s guest entry where she (Lauren) wrote about me and my teaching, and how hard it was for her (Lauren) to raise me!

Anyway, Jacqueline’s comment reminded me of teaching, and there was something else yesterday that I read that also made me think of when I taught school. A man wrote about how bad his school experience was when one teacher made him (and others) get up in front of the class as though he were bad, and had to stand up front there for hours. He was up there to be made fun of by the other children and to feel bad about himself. The teacher seemed to feel satisfied that the other children were learning to be mean.

The man’s school experience reminded me of something I would occasionally do when a seventh grade boy was “naughty.” What was naughty? Probably the kid just couldn’t sit in his seat any longer and he needed some attention.

Thinking about what I used to do endeared me to myself as a teacher and made me miss teaching a lot.

I too would make the kid come up front, but it was quite a different experience from what happened to that man when he was a boy.

I’ve probably told you about this technique before. There may even be a blog entry for all I know, but I will tell you about it again anyway.

The first time this idea occurred to me was when I was teaching at the Silver Avenue Junior High School in San Francisco. I remember the boy’s name – Vernon Crowder. He was a sweetheart of a seventh grader, a marshmallow of a boy. He didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. You have to remember that seventh grade boys are still babies though they don’t know it. They are open books. You can tell everything they’re thinking by looking at them.

But before I tell you what I want to tell you, I’d first like to tell you about one other time I scolded Vernon about something. I don’t remember what his offense was – perhaps talking, bothering his neighbor, sending notes, shooting a spitball or something else equally horrific.

Anyway, when I was finished with my lecture to Vernon, Vernon crossed his arms over his chest, pouted, and to save his pride, grumbled to himself loud enough so we could all hear: “Lucky for her she’s a teacher – and a woman.” Wow, Vernon sure had me shaking in my boots! It was all I could do not to laugh out loud and go up and hug him.

Now to the wonderful technique. One day it just popped into my head when Vernon was out of his seat or whatever. Whatever Vernon was doing, he needed some attention. I made myself very stern and told Vernon he had to come up front and be my shadow. If I moved, he had to move. If I wrote on the chalkboard, he had to pretend he was writing on the blackboard. Whatever gestures I made, he had to make. He wasn’t allowed to talk, but he had to move his lips as if he were saying everything I was.

Vernon ambled up to the front of the room as if reluctant, but, of course, he was overjoyed. The whole class was overjoyed. And I was overjoyed. A good time was had by all.

If Vernon looked away for a second, distracted by his laughing audience, for instance, I would quickly say, “Vernon, keep up. I just scratched my nose, and you didn’t.”

After a while, I let Vernon go back to his seat. Punishment was over.

Of course, I never let on that I knew the class’s laughing sometimes came from Vernon’s making horns behind my back.