I have been very blessed in my live in a lot of ways but one way I didn’t know that I was so blessed was by the teachers that I had all throughout school. When we decided on this topic, I immediately knew who I was going to write about. Until I sat down at my laptop, My finger just wouldn’t hit that first key, I had to really sit and think about this and I really hate thinking.
After like a day of kicking this around I decided to just go with my gut. During the 1985-86 school year, I got my first male teacher that I had in a few years, and I thought that that was pretty cool. Plus, I had just escaped the WORST teacher that anyone has ever had. Seriously, the woman was Satan. Ted Voelker was the teacher that every boy wished was their uncle. When you’re in 7th grade, everybody older than you is old, but I think he honestly in his late 20s or early 30s.
Let’s put it this way-he listened to Van Halen. He was really tough, but always fair. He had a great sense of humor, too. A lotta laughs that year. If you did get on his bad side, you were on it for the rest of the day, but the next day the slate was clean. Years later a bunch of situations came up from time to time in my life that would immediately stir a mention of something that he had said decades earlier. To this day really no other teachers that I had have had that effect on me. He was truly unique and had a lasting impact on me. BUT, he wasn’t my favorite teacher…………….
That title would have to go to my Grandpa, hands down. No, he didn’t teach in a school, but over the years he taught me different lessons in math, science, grammar, woodworking, auto mechanics, and much, much more.
I’m a firm believer that a person that does something because they WANT to is much better at it than the person that does the same thing because they HAVE to. Gramps didn’t need to teach my anything, but he wanted to, and that made all the difference. To this day I use the things that he taught me growing up and in some cases, I’m teaching them to my nieces.
Unfortunately, I can’t assign a “most important” label on one particular thing he taught me. I haven’t been the most successful person in the world, but I’d like to think that when he looks down on me he’s proud of the person that I’ve become. God knows I’m that I’m proud-and thankful-that he was my grandpa. People often dismiss their grandparents, but I’m here to tell you not to. 30 minutes-time you’d waste on your phone-will mean an unbelievable amount to your grandparents. And you just might learn something too.
Her Take:
It’s funny how things come together, isn’t it? I really agonized over how I’d write this, and who I’d write about. When you talk about teachers, I mean, really, there are so many people I could have chosen. I could have even cheated a little, like I like to do, and chosen someone that, while not technically a ‘teacher’ taught me so much that I felt compelled to tell you all about them.
Then, this week, I had a conversation with my daughter that made up my mind.
We were talking about someone who used to be her friend, expressing disappointment in her, mainly. Eventually we got to the point where my daughter said that knowing this ex-friend was raised by Christian parents made her start to question Christianty at all.
Wow. Dang. That was hard to hear. But it made me think.
‘Christians’ get lumped in together a lot, and some people suck, right? And, notably, some really REALLY bad things have happened in the name of ‘Chrsitianity’ - I’m looking at you, The Crusades - and granted, there’s still a lot of indefensible BS happening in the name of this big idea of ‘Christianity’. And there’s a lot of people kind of getting away with it too, because they are pretty quick to pretend they’re persecuted and not (frankly) rich, white, and awful.
But when I talk about being Christian, I mean that I’m a follower of Christ. Just like a Buddhist follows Buddha, a Muslim follows Mohommad, etc. You get me. Christ is a teacher, and it’s what he taught that makes me a Christian. Whether you agree or not, I feel like there’s a difference between my being a Christian and what someone, with love, like my daughter, sees as ‘Christianity’.
And I’m blessed, because I’ve been able to see that difference in the teachers I’ve had in my life. Especially the teacher I want to tell you about today, Mis Klein.
Miss Klein was my 2nd grade teacher and, when I was seven, she seemed perfect. With long, blonde hair, an almost endless wardrobe of paisley dresses, and a guitar that she used, among other things, to teach us the song ‘Jesus Loves Me’ three words at a time, she was a late 70s-early 80s young Christian role model.
But she wasn’t just cool, she walked through the world with a sense of care and connection that’s rare and special. She took time, way more time than anyone I knew at that time or have really known since, to look at you, to see you. And she did that for everyone.
Of course, when you were lucky enough to be in her class there were hugs galore, kind words, loving attention, and the general feeling of being constantly bathed in light and love. At least that’s the experience I remember. But her love and graciousness, her expression of Christ-like teaching, didn’t stay in her classroom. If you watched her as she led the little troop of ducklings that was Grade 2 through the hallways for lunch or recess or chapel, you could see her eyes always looking, watching for someone who needed her, and then she’d connect.
She’d lay a hand on a 6th grader’s shoulder as she passed, stop to help a 4th grader struggling with their winter boots, and offer a quick hug to an 8th grader as we all followed behind, watching her, feeling safe and witnessing Christ’s love manifest in that one, remarkable young woman.
Sometime after I moved on from 2nd Grade, Miss Klein married and became Mrs. Rucks, and that was ok too, because only her name changed. She stayed the same amazing teacher for year after year. Eventually I was the 8th grader getting the quick hug in the hallway. As she hugged you, she’d whisper ‘Jesus Bless Your Day.’ and give you one last little squeeze on the arm before she pulled away. There were times that hug and those words were exactly what I needed.
You’re expecting this little essay to end with me saying I’ve never forgotten her (I haven’t) and a reflection on how Miss Klein affected my childhood, and that’d be a cool story and a good place to end, but there’s more. Most Sundays, when we can all be in church, Miss Klein - now Mrs. Rucks - sits near us, and it’s one of my favorite things in the world. She hasn’t changed, she seems to have barely aged. I still get to watch her watching for people that need her love, and hugging them, helping them, loving them when they do.
And sometimes I get my chance too, and she lays a hand on my shoulder, or gives me that quick hug, and whispers ‘Jesus Bless your day’ and that, my friends, it what I think being a teacher, and being a Christian means.
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