Mrs. Turner & Mrs. Roberston
Fifth grade as the "magic school classroom."
This post is part of a series on those who inspired me to go into education, generally, and into theological education, specifically. It is my hope to elucidate the inspiring themes and visions that shape my understanding of teaching today.
“Mr. Barnhart, are you talking again?” Mrs. Turner’s tone was one of both frustration and comedic exasperation. I had been warned numerous times to stop talking (an issue all the way from the second grade, apparently). Alas, if there is a conversation to be had at the wrong time, you will almost always find me there. I’m a sucker for a good story.
Our class was in a mobile unit at the back of the building. I would hop off the bus, enter through the front doors of the school building proper, pass through the gym/common space, head out the back exit, walk (not run) down the concrete steps, and hang a right. Along the back sidewalk were four mobile units. One housed the guidance office (where I was a school mediator learning early the value of conflict resolution). The next unit housed the music classroom with Mrs. Harter. The next one was Mrs. Turner’s classroom and the last one was Mrs. Robertson’s class.
Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Robertson were my fifth grade teachers. Turner taught science and math. Robertson taught language arts and social studies (I believe). Mrs. Robertson was a wonderfully kind teacher. Her classroom was marked by reading nooks. Once or twice throughout the year we would wear pajamas to school, bring a blanket, and read for the day. Her warm presence made it quite easy for me to combine reading and comfort. I still recall reading Shiloh in her class. I was enthralled by the story line of a dog in trouble (I’m a sucker for an animal in need) and the friendship forged with a boy (then my age) who would help save him. Shiloh was a book about animals, friendship, and the courage to make a difference in the world. I cannot imagine a better book for a fifth grader to read. It was a part of a reading unit, and I fell in love with it.
Mrs. Turner was the first teacher I had that knew my family. If memory serves me correct, she had taught my father, my uncle, Chip, and my aunt, Juana. She brought adventure into the classroom. I remember a unit on whales and using papier-mâché to make a blue whale. (Yes, the smallest student chose the largest mammal.) We even went to Jamestown on a school trip in which we stayed overnight.
She was a vibrant teacher who, like an earlier teacher, Mr. Keeler, seemed to have an unending supply of energy. But she was also a teacher who had taught for a number of years. This wasn’t her first rodeo and she had a joyful realism about the potential of fifth graders. While learning was fun, the goals were set high. We dealt with big ideas and she believed we could be stretched to achieve them.
But my gift for gab was a problem. Indeed, this has been a recurring issue in my life. Side conversations chip away at the focus I should (and can) bring to a project. In one of my progress reports (report cards), Mrs. Turner included this closing note to my parents:
“Jason is usually a very cooperative and conscientious student. His attitude toward school continues to be excellent. However, he has had some difficulty working in groups again this six weeks.” Mrs. T :-)
In the school scrapbook my mother kept of my educational journey, I had to indicate each academic year what I wanted to be when I grew up. My chattiness should come as no surprise with the fact that I wanted to be a lawyer. At age 10, 4’4”, 110 lbs., what I lacked in stature I more than made up for in argumentation and occupational goals.
My fifth grade class was one in which I felt a strong sense of community in the classroom. It was the year that marked the end of our elementary school pilgrimage. Living in a small town, I was blessed to be in class with the same peers from kindergarten forward. We had shared a lot of life together.
As I look back on my fifth grade year, I remember it as the year that learning became fun to me. There was adventure in learning new things and the world got a lot larger. The joy didn’t just come in the content. Content is always part of learning, but never its entirety. Rather, I was learning with a cohort of peers (about 17 total) that had become my closest friends. We were a close knit group and I cannot recall any bullying in our class. We enjoyed being together and the classroom felt like an extension of family.
These hallmarks mark my teaching today (hopefully). We learn best when the teacher or professor establishes trust in the classroom. This trust is forged first between the students and the instructor. As that relationship is established, truth grows out like vines to connect students together. They move from individuals in a class into a community of peers working together toward a common goal.
It’s appropriate that I end my elementary school journey and posts for 2022 with this post. We are currently in the season of Advent and I’ve mentioned the joyful adventure of learning. Adventure derives its root from advent. The meaning of this word has evolved through the centuries through its etymological journey from Latin, through Old French, into Middle English, and finally becoming our common use today. It has meant “wonder,” “miracle,” and “something about to happen,” but I prefer the definition of “expectant wonder.” Good learning should fill us with some sense of awe and transcendence. We experience something beyond ourselves, and we do it with others. This creates adventure alongside the advent of new ideas and possibilities.
Grottoes, Virginia was (and is) a small town of less than 2,000 people when I grew up. My fifth grade class, as I mentioned before, was around 17 students. Grottoes Elementary had to have felt more like an educational cul-de-sac than a teaching thoroughfare for educators like Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Robertson. We students were never aware of this, though, because they invited us into a bigger picture. Turner and Robertson combined reminded me of Ms. Frizzle from “The Magic School Bus.” Mrs. Robertson had the look of Ms. Frizzle. Mrs. Turner had the go-getter attitude of the fictional teacher. Together, they invited students on an adventure that marked them for life. Not a week goes by when I don’t think about my elementary school years. Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Robertson deserve a lot of credit for that.
Now it’s your turn. Who was your fifth grade teacher and what was their impact on your journey? Leave a comment below or, if on Facebook, in the thread.
This is the last post for 2022. I will be traveling with family for the holidays. Look for a restart of this blog on the second Monday of January (1/9/23).
My fifth grade teacher was Gertrude Corman, who, most of the time was as stern as her first name implies. Our suburban schools were so crowded that for the first 1/2 of that school year we went half days until another new elementary school would open up. I went afternoons, so I always arrived home in the winter near dark. Mrs. Corman was great on school trips, & these trips help generate my love of history, architecture, & museums. I still remember the mummy at the Western Reserve Historical Society! I think this was also the year that my parents paid for Saturday morning art classes at the Cleveland Museum of Art. I am grateful to them, because this was way “outside the box” of their experience & interests, but they knew it interested me. Mrs. Corman was in charge of the huge bulletin board in the hallway outside our classroom. We did a mural of the “Westward Movement” & I was given the task of drawing the buildings for a Western town - general store, schoolhouse, church & some houses. I don’t think a saloon was included, even though I knew about them from all the Westerns I saw on TV!