We have been told over and over about the importance of bonding to our children. Rarely do we hear about the skill of letting go.
Joan Sheingold Ditzion
I found Latin an exciting and challenging subject. I was always thrilled to discover an English word that had its root in Latin. My father got into the game of listening for words in my Latin vocabulary. When he recognized one, he’d teach me the English derivatives, which meant I was learning new English words as well. It was important that I enlarge my vocabulary to keep up with my expanding academic experience, and this was a perfect way to do so.
I liked Latin class because it was easy for me and I didn’t mind memorizing. Miss Jones was cheerful and outgoing, just the opposite of the stereotypical Latin teacher. She was good about adopting Mrs. Carp’s idea of jotting down assignments and expectations on the blackboard. Once in a while, when there was no homework, she wrote on the board “Vacation!” or “Take a break from Latin.”
In Latin class, we had to memorize many, many word endings. I started to write these on index cards, but my mother came up with the brilliant idea of writing the endings for different categories on a roll of paper. She then tacked the twelve-inch-wide strips of paper on the walls in my bedroom. In a month the bedroom walls were covered with Latin. I was able to look up and memorize right above my desk and bed. What dreams I must have had—no posters of movie stars for me! My bedroom looked more like that of a Latin scholar than of a ninth-grade student. I began doing very well in Latin.
It was a different story in algebra. During the second week, Miss Waggy realized I was having trouble. At CID, the students who weren’t good lipreaders, speakers, and listeners struggled, but since these were among my strengths, I flourished. Our teachers in English, reading, and history were generally quite good. On the other hand, for whatever reason, our instruction in math and science tended to be substandard. At Lincoln, Miss Waggy determined that I was two years behind. I hadn’t done any preparatory math work for three or four years at CID. I was shocked when she said I should be taking a seventh-grade math class.
After a few days of discussions, Miss Waggy encouraged me to pursue independent study in class and after school. I was not very happy at first, but I realized she was right and that I had to work hard to make up for what I had missed at CID. Miss Waggy had confidence in me, but my parents began to worry about all the extra work I was doing. In the end, I persuaded them that I could handle the work. Miss Waggy turned out to be a very special person. Perhaps she was empathetic with my deafness because she had her own physical issue, her back.
Over time, Miss Waggy became sensitive to my needs. When she began to talk while facing the blackboard, she would suddenly freeze, turn to me, and start all over. In my outside studies, we worked hard together. I was fast and made up the two years of math in four months, which pleased her immensely. She knew I would eventually catch up to the rest of the class with my algebra, and I did.
In civics, it was difficult for me to follow Mrs. Burdette. She was always rambling on about things not covered in our textbooks. At first, I was apprehensive about what I was missing. She had the habit of using her fists and hands during the rambling, which signaled to me that what she was saying was important. I started asking a new friend who sat next to me, Tom McQuain, whether I was missing anything important. He got into the habit of sharing his notes with me, which was a lifesaver. Mrs. Burdette encouraged Tom to do this, because she was clearly uncomfortable with my asking so many questions. It was obvious that she had a mental block against my speech. Many times, Tom and others in the class had to help her understand me.
As time went on, Tom often had occasion to write down his favorite expression: “You are not missing anything. She is beating around the bush.” Sometimes I had trouble believing him, because Mrs. Burdette seemed to be saying something profound, emphasized by a shaking fist or gesture in the air. But Tom made sure I knew what to study for tests—if I missed that information my grades would suffer.
One day, I realized to my dismay that Tom was sick and not in class. I depended so much on him that I was afraid I’d miss something important. I asked around the class for another note taker. Mary, a friendly girl, agreed. She wrote down everything Mrs. Burdette said, including the unimportant stuff. Mary didn’t have Tom’s knack of sorting out the trash. I couldn’t believe all the garbage that showed up in Mary’s notes. Much of it was nothing more than Mrs. Burdette’s conservative political comments about her favorite presidential candidate, Barry Goldwater.
For the first time, I realized how much of what Mrs. Burdette said was a waste of time. I was disgusted with the whole thing. Yet I thanked Mary many times for doing it and she continued to do it from time to time when Tom was absent. Every time I showed Mary’s notes to Tom, he broke up with laughter. I was very grateful to have Tom as my ears. He went on to become a senior staff attorney for the West Virginia Supreme Court of Appeals, and he says that “working for me” led to his thirty-five-year career in state courts.
In English, Mrs. Carp gave us an overwhelming amount of work, but she encouraged me by advising, “Getting started is an important step in the right direction. Once you get started, you’ve finished half of the project.” That was good advice. I used that advice for the next four years in high school. Mrs. Carp scared everyone to death, but I wasn’t afraid of her because I knew she supported and understood me. She was impressed with my work and had confidence in my ability to improve. She knew how important it was for me to enlarge my vocabulary and expand my writing skills.
At the beginning of that first semester at Lincoln, my mother asked me many questions about my homework assignments. Using her own copies of my textbooks, she did the same homework and then checked my answers. She never told me correct answers; she only showed me my mistakes. I then double-checked and corrected the mistakes. She tried to do this for each of my classes, with the exception of algebra. As time went on, I became a little irritated. I felt she was mothering me too much. At the same time, I knew she wanted me to do well.
Part of the reason for my mother’s heavy involvement was that she was a natural teacher. She took much pleasure in educating and raising her two younger brothers and then her three sons before I was born. My mother and father both felt that all parents ought to play a major role in contributing to their children’s lives. In addition, with me, it was an adventure for her.
I loved to talk and my parents were able to communicate with me about almost anything. Whenever I mentioned something that had come up at school, they were ready to jump in and discuss it. Still, I wasn’t crazy about having my mother check my homework and monitor every step of my schoolwork. I was eager to prove my independence. But at the same time, I didn’t want to tell her to bug off. All parents and children face this challenge, of course. It can be hard for parents to know when to step in and help and when to hold back and let children work things out for themselves. The trick is to gradually release the reins so that by the time the children are ready to graduate from high school, they are able to function on their own.
One day just before Christmas, my mother came down with a bad case of the flu and had to be in bed for two weeks. She fell behind in her studies and stopped checking my homework. I was sorry she was sick but glad she had to bow out, for I was eager to convince her and myself that I didn’t need all the help she was giving me. She soon realized I was doing well enough without her help. From that point on, she stopped doing the homework altogether. It was another small victory in my march toward independence.