RandomPokesCheers from the Grandstand Steve Dennie
During the last semester of my senior year at Tulare Union High School, I had two goals:
1. Win our 4th consecutive conference championship in tennis.
2. Get out of that school.
Those goals did not include getting a high grade in Mr. Snyder's Current Events class.
He had us "contract" for a grade. Do certain types of papers worth certain amounts of points--get an A. Go for fewer points, get a B. Less yet, a C. In light of my goals, I opted for a C.
Nobody went for an A. Not a bright bunch.
To get a C, I mostly had to read some newspaper or magazine articles and write a page of comment. Worth 15 points apiece. Simple. After I did a couple, Mr. Snyder, realizing I had some current events savvy, asked me why in the world I wasn't going for an A. I don't remember my explanation, but he wasn't happy. He desperately wanted at least one good student.
I felt amused. So I wrote an eight-page commentary on the Watergate scandal, which was then at fever pitch, and turned it in as a mere 15-point assignment, even though it was A-quality stuff. Really ticked Mr. Snyder off. "You could have gotten 120 points for this!" he told me. I just shrugged and smiled.
Twice, as Mr. Snyder harangued the class for general laziness, he said, "Some of you could do a lot better," and looked at me to make sure I knew the object of his scorn. I got such a kick out of it. I really did.
For the rest of the semester, my main motivation was to get his goat. It's good to have goals.
A few months later, I was a scholarship student at Huntington College. My very first class was Honors Writing. Most freshmen took English Composition, but about 20 of us, probably based on our SAT scores (I certainly didn't sign up for the class) were placed in Honors Writing. Two of my best lifelong friends, Brian Hughes and Ted Doolittle, were also in that class.
The teacher was Miss Edwina Patton. At that point, she would have been in her early 60s. From the start, she spoke with enthusiasm. I'm just delighted that you're here and we can spend the semester together, and oh, we're going to have a good time and learn a lot, and I was at this writing seminar over the summer, it was really good, and let's get started.
I loved Miss Patton--not just because she was a good teacher, but because she was my advisor. Every semester, I met with her to get my next semester's schedule worked out. She would spend a lot of time going over my options, offering advice, and then calling around to make sure the classes I wanted were still open.
But that was only part of it. Throughout our meeting, she would shower me with affirmation. As we talked, she would throw in a comment to the effect that she liked me, that I had a lot of talent, that she enjoyed reading my assignments, that it was a pleasure to be my advisor. I always left her office covered with warm fuzzies and feeling good about myself. I had just been with somebody who really cared about me and would go out of her way to help me.
I don't know how much potential Miss Patton could actually see in me. At that point, I was just a fairly ordinary student, nothing special, who showed real motivation only in her classes. She didn't know I would go on to a career in writing. But because of her continual affirmation, I came to believe that I really was a good writer. Mostly because of her influence, I pursued a career in journalism.
Miss Patton was in my grandstand, watching my progress and cheering me on. And that continued long after I graduated.
She was excited when I told her I would become assistant editor at the United Brethren Headquarters. "Oh, you'll do just marvelous," she would say. And, of course, I believed her.
Miss Patton stopped teaching in 1978, after 18 years at HC, but just couldn't separate herself from the college. Over the years, I ran into her seven or eight times at Homecoming, Commencement, plays, and other college events, and I would tell her the latest things I'd done and where I'd been published. She would practically burst with pride. And she would affirm me all over again. Though no longer my teacher, she remained in my grandstand.
Interestingly, even though my ability and credits eventually far exceeded Miss Patton's, I still looked to her for affirmation. Maybe because I knew I would get it. It's hard to overdose on affirmation.
Miss Patton died in July at age 82. Now there's an empty seat in my grandstand. I find myself reflecting on the tremendous influence that a teacher can have not just on a student, but on a life. Few teachers, like Miss Patton, exercise that influence.
And I'm forced to ask myself, "Whose grandstand am I in? Who looks to me for affirmation? Who knows I will always cheer for them?"
I'm head cheerleader for my wife. And I cheer enthusiastically for my parents, my brothers, my nieces and nephews, and a few others. But there need to be more.
Copyright 2005 Steve Dennie |
