The countdown to summer vacation began weeks ago. But while other kids anxiously awaited the last day of school in Monroe, my youngest had a slightly different take on the impending ending of the school year.
"I don't want school to end," she moaned.
Her lamentations started in early spring and by the beginning of May, her proclamations had ramped up: She had the best teacher and it had been the best year ever. And she did not want it to end. Ever.
This week, the final week, was hard. She is looking forward to summer vacation and all it entails: swimming at the pool and staying up late and sleeping in and riding her bike and summer school and a week at camp and a week up North and softball and more riding her bike and more swimming at the pool, of course.
But she's going to miss her fourth-grade teacher.
Now that my oldest is in high school and my middle child is in middle school, I don't hear such high praise about teachers from them nearly as often. Once in a while, I hear that Mr. X is funny or Mrs. X is cool, and it seems a number of teachers after fifth grade fall into the general "they're OK" pile - go figure. But mostly my queries about teachers past the elementary level are met with shrugs, eye rolls and various mutterings that seem to indicate I'm some sort of social pariah for even asking.
So it's mighty refreshing to hear my youngest offer, voluntarily, that her teacher is in fact, the best. Make that best ever.
In fairness, this is not the first time I've heard this - from my youngest or from her sisters. In fact, I recall hearing this same enthusiastic declaration from all three - even my two eye-rollers - on multiple occasions through their elementary school years. It seems their elementary school has many, many best teachers ever, and best classrooms ever. Which I guess isn't too surprising because they all agree that their elementary school is the best elementary school. On the planet.
And that is exactly as it should be.
What a relief, as a parent, to know my child thinks she has the best teacher, the best class and the best school ever. It's immensely reassuring, as a parent, to know your kids are so content and secure in school, they can't imagine any place better.
Every child and every parent should be so lucky.
So naturally, not wanting to burst their bubbles, I never had the heart to tell my kids that I actually had the best teacher ever, as well as the best elementary school.
Her name was Miss Fallon and I can still picture her second-grade classroom at Randall Elementary School in Madison: Hers was the first classroom at the top of the staircase furthest from Regent Street. Trudge, trudge, trudge up those massive steps (they were massive when you are only 7), turn left and walk in to her room. There was a wall of chalkboards there; tall windows overlooking the playground were on the opposite wall. Miss Fallon's desk was in the back corner, kitty-corner from the door.
I adored Miss Fallon. Funny but all these decades later, I don't remember why she was my favorite elementary school teacher - just that she was. I had plenty of other favorite teachers later on, especially in high school, but to this day, when I think of elementary school, I picture Miss Fallon and her classroom.
When I picked my youngest up from school on Friday, she was a pretty bummed. The last day of school had arrived and she said good-bye to her teacher. But, my daughter said, she didn't cry like she had in years past. She is growing up and with that comes learning to let go and move on gracefully.
And as proof, as we pulled away from the school, my wise young daughter announced, as she rattled off the names of the fifth-grade teachers at her school, she wasn't even concerned who she got as a teacher next year: She already knew she was going to like her.
- Mary Jane Grenzow is editor of the Monroe Times.
She can be reached at
editor@themonroetimes.com.
Her column appears on Saturdays.
"I don't want school to end," she moaned.
Her lamentations started in early spring and by the beginning of May, her proclamations had ramped up: She had the best teacher and it had been the best year ever. And she did not want it to end. Ever.
This week, the final week, was hard. She is looking forward to summer vacation and all it entails: swimming at the pool and staying up late and sleeping in and riding her bike and summer school and a week at camp and a week up North and softball and more riding her bike and more swimming at the pool, of course.
But she's going to miss her fourth-grade teacher.
Now that my oldest is in high school and my middle child is in middle school, I don't hear such high praise about teachers from them nearly as often. Once in a while, I hear that Mr. X is funny or Mrs. X is cool, and it seems a number of teachers after fifth grade fall into the general "they're OK" pile - go figure. But mostly my queries about teachers past the elementary level are met with shrugs, eye rolls and various mutterings that seem to indicate I'm some sort of social pariah for even asking.
So it's mighty refreshing to hear my youngest offer, voluntarily, that her teacher is in fact, the best. Make that best ever.
In fairness, this is not the first time I've heard this - from my youngest or from her sisters. In fact, I recall hearing this same enthusiastic declaration from all three - even my two eye-rollers - on multiple occasions through their elementary school years. It seems their elementary school has many, many best teachers ever, and best classrooms ever. Which I guess isn't too surprising because they all agree that their elementary school is the best elementary school. On the planet.
And that is exactly as it should be.
What a relief, as a parent, to know my child thinks she has the best teacher, the best class and the best school ever. It's immensely reassuring, as a parent, to know your kids are so content and secure in school, they can't imagine any place better.
Every child and every parent should be so lucky.
So naturally, not wanting to burst their bubbles, I never had the heart to tell my kids that I actually had the best teacher ever, as well as the best elementary school.
Her name was Miss Fallon and I can still picture her second-grade classroom at Randall Elementary School in Madison: Hers was the first classroom at the top of the staircase furthest from Regent Street. Trudge, trudge, trudge up those massive steps (they were massive when you are only 7), turn left and walk in to her room. There was a wall of chalkboards there; tall windows overlooking the playground were on the opposite wall. Miss Fallon's desk was in the back corner, kitty-corner from the door.
I adored Miss Fallon. Funny but all these decades later, I don't remember why she was my favorite elementary school teacher - just that she was. I had plenty of other favorite teachers later on, especially in high school, but to this day, when I think of elementary school, I picture Miss Fallon and her classroom.
When I picked my youngest up from school on Friday, she was a pretty bummed. The last day of school had arrived and she said good-bye to her teacher. But, my daughter said, she didn't cry like she had in years past. She is growing up and with that comes learning to let go and move on gracefully.
And as proof, as we pulled away from the school, my wise young daughter announced, as she rattled off the names of the fifth-grade teachers at her school, she wasn't even concerned who she got as a teacher next year: She already knew she was going to like her.
- Mary Jane Grenzow is editor of the Monroe Times.
She can be reached at
editor@themonroetimes.com.
Her column appears on Saturdays.
