Archive for the ‘Interview an Elder’ Category
The following story was told to me by a 68-year-old man who, though tipsy on red wine, is rarely prone to exaggeration. This is a true story, he said.
It came to pass that this father of three found himself on the same cruise ship as a number of jazz greats. Though the family patriarch, he’s the only one in his clan yet to appreciate that whole genre of music. Not too long ago, his daughters swooned for boy bands, and his son still fancies heavy metal with indistinguishable lyrics.
Dad prefers jazz. That’s why his heart skips a beat when he realizes that, across the blackjack table, is the leader of that motley jazz crew full of living legends. Fate would have it that the bandman was in a losing streak, while our hero is in a winning streak. In an instant, the bandman finds himself with a few extra $100 chips, courtesy of our father. The two get to talking, and hit it off.
Dad is a fan of every one of the greats the bandman tells him is on the ship, and our hero is thrilled to find out that all of them booking the same cruise was no coincidence — the bandsmen plan on having more than a few jam sessions back in their cabin, once the day’s planned festivities end.
Sooner than later, he gets invited to that night’s jam session. He asks if he could bring along his oldest daughter, and the bandman agrees.
I figure that these guys will be trippin’ all over themselves to impress her, and it’ll only make their sound better.
The daughter doesn’t give in as easily.
Daddy, I’m not sure I’ll like your elevator music.
Elevator music? Whose child is this? Holding back his rage, Daddy explains that he won’t be mad as long as she keeps an open mind and gives these jazz legends a chance. She has nothing to lose, he patiently explains. She agrees. Reluctantly.
The evening flies by. Chart after chart, standard after standard, all artfully tweaked with masterly improvisation. The whole time, Dad can’t stop grinning, and without a thought to the reaction of his daughter. He can’t believe that he’s in the same room as musicians he couldn’t afford to visit. Too soon, it’s all over. Tired, they return to the cabin.
The next morning, Dad finds his daughter sitting in the living area, a pensive look on her face. After a short time, and without goading, she turns to her father and says:
The stuff I listen to is shit. These guys, though? They’re musicians.
Happily, he embraces her. That’s my daughter.
I didn’t get it at first. What could he mean by asking:
Does your mother have a black dress?
No other credential program professor would tell this story. No other credential program professor would have this story. But because he’s Dr. Rosy, he’d tell us how he as a school teacher once dealt with a school bully.
This had to have happened in the mid-90s, in the first few weeks he taught 8th grade English in a high school somewhere in the Midwest.
The way he tells it, he came across an all-state athlete picking on some scrawny kid whose feet weren’t touching the ground. The lineman had the kid up by the collar.
Dr. Rosy — then Mr. Rosy, doctoral student — walked up to the bully and told him to put the kid down. The bully complied immediately. This kid must have been pushing iron since the 3rd grade, recalled Rosy.
This athlete was 6 feet 5 inches, with a solid 300 pounds of muscle, and now focused his attention on the upstart teacher.
A girl off to the side of the scene told the football player to just take care of Rosy already. Rosy wasn’t impressed; he asked the girl for her cell phone. She declined.
In that case, you call 911 and get an ambulance here. Well, maybe two. This guy’s so big he won’t fit in one.
Rosy was at least 43 years old and slightly shorter than the bully. A large-framed man even then, he would have been quite a bit smaller than the massive boy defiantly facing him, as if to challenge the teacher’s authority with a show of muscle.
Rosy, unimpressed, asked the kid a question.
Does your mother have a black dress?
The bully didn’t understand, so Rosy repeated the question.
Does your mother have a black dress?
Rosy must have feigned pondering to himself for a moment. Knowing him, for dramatic effect.
Because she’ll need one in about four days. That’s about when the state buries you.
That’s about when the story ends with my class laughing hysterically, some laughing out of horror.
He never advocated using or threatening violence, of course, and made sure to say that.
You have to improvise, overcome and adapt to these situations.
That’s one way to look at it.
These impromptu anecdotes were the best part of my credential program. The most entertaining, the most useful, the most helpful, the most consoling. I always felt like I learned something from every one of his classes.
As a student teacher, I’ve heard a lot about ambition, and changing the world. I’ve heard a lot of my fellow student teachers talk about wanting to make a difference. I’ve heard a lot of full-time teachers relate glowingly their stories of having made a difference, and being engaged.
As I finished up my grading after school, my master teacher and another teacher talked shop talk. I paid attention only intermittently, more intent on the 10s, the 7s and the many, many 0s throughout the PowerSchool grading program.
The other teacher is just as committed as my master teacher, and she would do anything for her students within reason — any action or strategy that teaches them to fish rather than just giving them a fish right off the bat, that is. Upbeat, positive, model teacher.
Eventually, she said something about wanting to shut down and just give up, in a moment of end-of-the-year exasperation.
I joked: Whatever happened to changing the world? Giving up already?
I gave up changing the world a long time ago. That’s the first thing I learned as a teacher, that changing the world can’t be my goal.
Laughing, my master teacher asked:
Why do we think that? Why do you think we try to change the world? What’s up with that?
In mock frustration, she offered her hypothesis.
It’s those movies, those stupid movies, where the teacher changes the world and is awesome.
But if you actually watch the movies, the Jamie Escalantes don’t change the world. They don’t even change the school. They just change their class of 20 students.
Twenty students per class? Now that’s something out of Hollywood.
