If you doodle in class, what do your doodles look like? Did
you ever draw your teachers? While flipping through some of my old sketchbooks
recently, I’ve been amused at what I’ve found. High school is such a weird
time—so many changes, so much pressure from all around. My high school
sketchbook reflects some of that weirdness. But it also tells funny stories of
a few of my teachers. I find this especially amusing now that I’m a teacher.
I’ve never noticed if any students have drawn me, but then again, most of my
teachers never noticed either. I would be both honored and tickled to learn of
any student drawings of me. And illustrations of my quirks, of which I’m sure
there are many.
One thing a captive audience always notices is body
language. Every teacher has their own unique mannerisms, and I am no exception.
This guy was not my teacher, but I sat in on one of his
classes—I believe it was anthropology—when I went to visit a college that I
didn’t end up going to. I don’t remember anything about the lecture, other than
being intrigued by the subject in general. What caught my eye was his
bow-tie—yellow and navy polka-dotted, if I remember correctly. The other thing
that drew my attention was how he leaned and rocked on the podium, as I tried
to capture here. I think it's funny that there's a ghost head of him floating
over as he lectures.
When I teach, I know I tend to lean on my chair, half
kneeling, half standing—ready to switch a slide, but also ready to get up and
move around the room, while trying stay somewhat at eye-level with the
students. I’m not sure if it looks weird or is worthy of an illustration, but
that’s what I know I do.
As a contrast, this sketch was inspired by my high school
drama teacher, whose name I am still trying to remember. I always admired her
graceful moves, which I tried to capture here. It’s because of her, together
with one of my best friends, Nitsa, that I got involved in school plays and
learned improv. Doing theater has certainly helped me in many ways as a teacher—learning
to project with my voice, to create a strong presence with my body, to think on
my feet, and to act out the occasional vocabulary word with theatrical flair.
My high school art teacher, Ms. Nagy, inspired me in
countless ways. She let me use oil paints—her own—for the first time; she
helped me shoot slides of my work; she took a group of us to Pennsylvania to
put our work in an art show; she showed me how to make a pinhole camera and do
darkroom photography; and she introduced me to a variety of different art
techniques, while being funny and attentive to everyone’s needs. And yet, the
thing I documented in this sketchbook is her throwing rubber erasers at
students! I’ve always been tempted to do that when I hear a language that’s not
English spoken in class, but I usually refrain…
As a teacher, I’m always tired. There are countless
assignments and tests to grade, lessons to plan, meetings to attend, things to
learn and research, and the more dear faces I have to remember and attend to
the needs of, the more rest and down time I end up needing on the weekends.
Some teachers amaze me with their energy—both peers of mine, and also teachers
from when I was in school. Mr. Harmon was one of those. The other students used
to joke that he was so revved up all the time that he probably had a clone that
he switched with, just to keep the energy up. And that fact that his facial
hair seemed to change day by day seemed to confirm that there might be two of
him. So that’s where this drawing came from. Oh, and he liked to yell and give
detentions. And I think he taught math. Is it bad that I don’t remember much of
those classes?
And then there was Mr. Snyder. He didn’t have a clone, but I
had speculated that he might be an alien, as seen above.
Mr. Snyder taught literature, but he also told a lot of
anecdotes, which I often felt compelled to illustrate. I couldn’t tell you now
what they were all about if I tried, but some of them—at least how I envisioned
them—were rather comical.
My other best friend from high school, Amy, was the gothy
type. I’m not sure if it was her idea or mine, but it just seemed like the
right thing to do one day, to draw Mr. Snyder as a goth.
And then there was that amazing little clay sculpture I made
(in class, while paying full attention) of Mr. Peer, my geometry teacher. I
later painted it and gave it to him, and he loved it--it was on his desk for
years--perhaps still is! Wish I had a picture of it. There are certainly other
teachers missing from the mix here, but they might be in another sketchbook
back in Maryland, at my parents' house.
Teachers always learn habits—good and bad—from their own
teachers. It’s very possible that my anecdotes are just as cheesy and
off-the-wall (and…unrelated?) as Mr. Snyder’s. It’s also possible that my
students hear my instructions as a shrill Harmon-ica. And maybe I dance and
prance around the classroom, but also stumble and fumble on the furniture, all
while trying to be cool, kind, funny, helpful, inspiring, and business-like,
and also trying to remember a million different things.
High school is surely a tumultuous time, even in the best of
situations. If my classroom can be in any way a place of refuge to some from
the confusion and stress of the day, I’ll feel happy. Whatever the day brings,
though, thoughtful doodles are always welcome.
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