The Fourth 'R'

My daughter once asked me, "Dad, when you were a boy, did you dress like the Pilgrims?"

I'm not that old, but I am old enough to remember attending a small rural elementary school not far removed from the one-room school houses my parents attended. At Salem Elementary, a total of three teachers managed to lead the whole school, with about a dozen students at each grade-level and two grades in each classroom. Older students were expected to help tutor the younger ones.

My first and second grade teacher, Mrs. Tolle, believed in hands-on learning. She brought tadpoles, flowering plants, and praying mantises into the classroom. She encouraged us to paint the windows with bright-colored glass wax. She took us on field trips to a goat farm and an art museum. She began each day with the Pledge of Allegiance and the Lord's Prayer.

In the third and fourth grades, Mrs. Miller taught us how to multiply and divide, and she insisted we write with smooth cursive letters—a skill I lost long ago. She loved geography, expecting us to learn the capital city of every state and the identity of every European nation. If I could talk with her today, I would ask how she feels about the way the globe has changed so much in recent years, especially Eastern Europe.

My teacher in the fifth and sixth grades, Mr. Bock, was a dignified gentleman with a shiny bald head. I never heard him raise his voice or use incorrect grammar, but I do recall that his head turned bright red when my classmates and I irritated him. I also remember the day he asked, "Does anyone have a favorite Scripture verse to share?" To demonstrate, Mr. Bock flawlessly quoted John 14:1-3 and Jesus' promise, "in my Father's house are many mansions." Even in a public school setting, he felt complete freedom to express his faith in Christ back in 1965.

With a little effort, I can name most of the teachers and coaches who guided me through the turbulent waters of junior high and high school. Overcoming my immaturity and my distaste for certain subjects, they managed to teach me about algebra and chemistry, world history and English literature. They showed me how to sing baritone, how to overcome a full-court press in basketball, how to diagram a sentence, and how to finish a piece of oak in wood shop.

Of course, not all of my teachers were outstanding educators. A few were mediocre at best. Some of my teachers were eccentric and ill-tempered; some appeared to be poorly prepared; others exasperated their students because they were inconsistent and unpredictable in discipline; and I had a couple of coaches whose foul language and temper tantrums undermined their leadership. All teachers influence their students for good or for bad. Some show by example what not to do.

Remember the "three Rs"? Generations of teachers devoted themselves to imparting skills in reading, writing, and arithmetic—but evidently not in spelling, since two of the three "Rs" don't start with "R"! Anyway, maybe we should add a fourth "R" for "ripples." More than 40 years after I studied in their classrooms, my teachers still create a ripple effect in my life.

That's a sobering thought for all of us who teach. Forty years from now, what will the generations to come remember about us?