I was a high school senior, thinking of becoming a teacher. So, I was helping out in Mrs. Hirsch's special education class.
Mrs. Hirsch was a special teacher indeed. She expected her pupils to learn. She encouraged them to make their best effort. She came up with inventive ways to get the lesson across.
She brought in copies of the Pennsylvania Drivers Manual for the older boys to read. I have rarely seen a more enthusiastic crowd of readers.
Unfortunately, because she was such a good teacher, Mrs. Hirsch was sent around to other schools to show other teachers what she did in her classroom.
That meant that Rona was in charge of the class.
Rona was a senior at Pitt, finishing up her student teaching requirements. I have no idea why Rona decided to be a teacher. She didn't particularly like children. She wasn't good with them. She was afraid of the big boys, and made up for it by bullying the smaller kids.
Unlike Mrs. Hirsch, she wasn't creative or innovative. When she was in charge of the class, the kids spent their time doing worksheets, while she sat at her desk and did word search puzzles.
One day, one of the boys brought his pet garter snakes to school. Boys being boys and snakes being snakes, they got loose in the classroom. They crawled across the floor, heading straight for my feet.
I know garter snakes are harmless. I also know that I was wearing sandals, and there was no way in this world I wanted a snake crawling across my foot. I set a land speed record out the classroom door.
Rona was four inches behind me, yelling, "Don't let them know you're scared!"
(I don't know if she meant the boys or the snakes.)
A few days later, the class went on a trip to the zoo. She was just as eager as the kids to get me into the snake house and see my reaction. I disappointed them all and admired each reptile. Snakes behind glass don't bother me.
She even pointed out that the garden hose beside the reptile house looked like a great big snake. I didn't see the resemblance, and anyway it wasn't likely to start crawling somewhere.
Rona was not a role model, for me or anyone else. She was a disaster as a teacher, and no great shakes as a human being.
I wondered what it would be like to work with someone like her, year after year after year. What would it be like, doing the best I could, knowing next year my pupils would have a teacher like Rona, who didn't care if they learned or not, as long as they didn't bother her.
My last week in Mrs. Hirsch's class, Rona caught one of the small boys in some trivial misbehavior and humiliated him in front of most of the school. I can remember her dragging that poor kid off to the kindergarten class, where she said he belonged, announcing to all and sundry that he was going to kindergarten. A 22-year-old woman behaving like a 10-year-old bully.
That was the day I made my decision: I was NOT going to be a teacher. It would be too hard for me to do my best work, knowing my students would go on to someone like Rona.
I never saw Rona again after that. I don't know what her career in education was like. I hope it was brief.
If she ever wonders whether she made a difference in someone's life during her time as a teacher, I can say she did.
She convinced me that I didn't want to teach.
They ought to give medals to good teachers. Every educator who makes an effort -- knowing that there are Ronas out there who will fill their students' lives with worksheets, humiliation and personal abuse -- and still does the best job she can, ought to be honored in a special ceremony in the White House Rose Garden.
How tempting it must be to those dedicated teachers to throw in the towel, break out the worksheets and take up word search puzzles.
I had, in my life, some wonderful teachers. They made a real difference. Good teachers change lives.
Bad teachers change lives, too.
Rona changed mine.
After working with her, I was a high school senior not sure what I wanted to do with my life, but absolutely certain that I didn't want to be a teacher.
First Published: September 22, 2010, 8:00 a.m.
