As a former teacher, I can look back on my own life and say that the five most influential (non-family) people in my life were teachers.
Mrs. Carter, my fourth grade teacher, taught phonics and diagramming of sentences. That was a sound basis for writing, which has been a big part of my life. The most influential thing she did, though, was to insist that the school put me in the "A Track" for fifth grade. If I had not been in the "B Track," though, I would never have had her as a teacher. She remains one of my all-time favorites. All through high school, I had a better understanding of grammar than the A trackers who did not have Mrs. Carter. Even in college, I was one of the few people who found diagramming easy during the teacher preparatory class called "Systems of Grammar." Aced it, thanks to Mrs. Carter.
A Sunday School teacher is among my most influential people, and I sure hope someone passes that message on to Mrs. Elsea in Heaven! She promoted herself along with us when we moved from one grade school age level to another for four years. I will never really know how much of my religious foundation is directly as a result of her teaching. She often told us how proud of us she was and that she loved us so much that she couldn't give us to another teacher, once confiding to me that I was one of her favorites. She might have said that secretly to each of us, for all I know; but I believed her and never wanted to disappoint her. Years later, she gave me an old-fashioned cookbook as a wedding present, and it remains one of my most prized possessions.
Then there was Mr. Stauffer, my junior high social studies teacher. I had always hated the dates and details of history, but he managed to make us envision history and relate it to modern times and to our own lives. Ever since his class, I have been interested in world happenings and politics. I had started a parttime job by eighth grade, and he pulled me aside one day. "You have potential. Don't waste it on a parttime job and the nickels you earn," he warned. "Concentrate on school and get into school activities that will help you succeed." I took his advice all the way to parenthood, never letting my own children work at a job during the school year. They, like I was, were very involved in extra curriculars during high school. I remember Mr. Stauffer's words verbatim. And he did say, "Nickels." I might have scoffed had he said pennies or even nickels and dimes. He wanted me to know that my after-school job was not important.
For some reason that I still don't remember, I took debate class as a freshman and then joined Debate Club. Mr. Banker was a fast talking, fast walking, "take no prisoners" nationally-ranked coach. "Be prepared" was his motto, and he demanded that we research, research, research. Long before I had to write a term paper or a news story, I knew how to do research. "Know the other side of the argument as well as you know your own," was another Mr. Banker mantra. He made us speak into a tape recorder with a meter so that we would learn how to modulate our voices. Those lessons have been life-long blessings.
Linda Smith Putney, my journalism teacher, singled me out near the end of my junior year. I had been interested in photography since elementary school, even setting up a darkroom at home. Publications classes were limited to seniors, and I aimed to be THE photographer. She told me that Mike was going to be photographer and ordered me to apply for editor. "I've never been elected to ANYthing," I protested when she told me that I was a leader. She forced me to stretch, reaching for a horizon that I would never have considered. Being editor of my high school yearbook was the most important experience of my entire academic life, though I went on to earn bachelor and master's degrees. I majored in English and journalism in college and taught high school journalism for over 20 years, before going to work as a sales rep for a publisher (more about that later). I was even named Missouri Journalism Teacher of the Year. That would not have happened, I am absolutely sure, if Mrs. Smith had not shut the darkroom door on me!
"God never wastes a hurt," is a saying my pastor often uses. Rick Warren uses that saying, too, and Amazon even sells a book by the name. In that vein, then, I also had some painful influences. One that shaped me immeasurably was a friend's father, the person who first taught me to use a darkroom. He tried to proposition me when I was 14 and then said if I told anyone, he'd have no choice other than to kill me and/or my parents. I never went back to his house, but I kept his secret and lived in fear until somebody tried to break into our house--the downstairs room where I slept, in fact. I reluctantly confided to Mom that I might know who did it. I was desperate to move back upstairs. Dad worked nights and was asleep that morning, but Mom woke him up and made me tell him the story. I was horrified, and I cried uncontrollably while Dad reassured me. As he left the house to confront the man, Dad said, "None of this is your fault, and it is now my problem, not yours. You can stop worrying." At that moment, I was afraid he would kill Harold. I will never know what he did do, but Harold and his family moved to another state not long after. That incident made me trust the wisdom and protection of both parents more than I ever would have otherwise.
I had a slight speech impediment when I started school and a very mixed up accent, having been born in Michigan, lived in Arkansas for a time, and then moved to Missouri during second grade. Of course, other children laughed at me, and adults even judged me by my speech pattern (except for Mrs. Carter). Those taunters are number two on my list of bad people who influenced me for the better. The Kansas City area was one of the nation's first to implement speech therapy in public schools. I might have been among the first children to go through the training. I am sorry to say that I don't remember the names of the people who came once a week and worked with me and a few others for two and a half years. Those pioneering therapists played word games with us, opened their mouths to show us how to make sounds, put their fingers in our mouths to re-position our tongues, and blew on mirrors to demonstrate different sounds. It was embarrassing to be labeled a "special needs student," but I conquered the speech impediment before entering fifth grade. I could not have done any of the jobs I have had as an adult or excelled academically if that negative had not been turned into a positive. I learned that I could overcome taunting.
Two boys I dated in high school, and thought I loved, disappointed me and broke my heart; so they share spot number three. If either of those teen crushes had worked out, I would probably have skipped college and missed meeting the man God meant for me. Thanks, guys, because you were only place-holders, and you taught me what to look for in a man. I've been married to him for 44 years.
As president of the college press club during my senior year, I was supposed to represent the group when we started a collegiate chapter of Sigma Delta Chi, The Society of Professional Journalists. I did lead our college contingent at the professional group's state meeting during the application process. When it came time, however, to appoint a representative to go to Washington, DC to present the application, our club's male sponsor orchestrated a move that got my male vice president selected. I marched into his office and demanded an explanation for the end run he did. "I just don't feel right sending a female student that far on her own," he said with not a hint of recognition that he had discriminated against me.
That was the only time I had ever yelled at a teacher. I was a senior, the elected president, an associate editor of the paper, and a MARRIED student of legal age, not some air-headed, sorority coed, I told him LOUDLY. I promised him that I would make a very public scene if he tried to keep me from representing the group in the future. I didn't get to go to DC, but I did go to the spring meeting in New Orleans where I formally received the charter and was recognized as the nation's first female chapter president. Cha-ching to Roy, number four on my list of bad people who influenced me in a positive way. You taught me to stand up for myself even against authority figures.
It's still tough for me to admit, but getting fired from a publisher's sales job is what led me into real estate. It's definitely one of my greatest failures. I could not meet the sales quota, and just as I was breaking even with my commission draw, the sales manager told me that I had a few months to look for another job. He immediately started narrowing my sales territory, making it impossible to meet any sales goal. I guess I'd have to admit that number five on my list, that guillotine-operating manager, made a difference in my life. Kills me to admit it, though. I now own my own real estate company with my daughter, and I'd really love to say, "Nanny, nanny, boo boo," to him. But that would be childish, wouldn't it? I think I have arrived, but I wouldn't have reached for this particular horizon if I had never been forced to do it.
So there you have it--life's journey consists of good, bad, and ugly influences. It's what you do with each one that forges your future.
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