A tribute to everyday heroes

When I heard about the Newtown shootings, I had this fantasy of Arnold Schwarzenegger being there to save the day, guns blazing. But the reality was much different. The everyday heroes: teachers, administrators, and counselors, were the ones that were really there, valiantly protecting the children. How does one pay tribute to them? They hid their children in closets and in bathroom stalls, locking the doors and standing guard, holding their childrens' faces and telling them that they loved them. And some of them gave their lives.

I want to tell them that I admire their bravery and their sacrifice. The best way I can do this, I figure, is to pay tribute to some of my own teachers. These were the teachers that made a difference in my life. My reasoning may seem trivial to you. There are no grand gestures listed in the paragraphs below. No one took my terrible life and turned it around, because frankly, my life wasn't terrible. Many of my teachers were good, and taught me things. But years (and years . . .  and years . . . ) later, these are the teachers that stand out in my memory. Although I didn't know it at the time, looking back I can see that I responded the way I did to them because I knew somewhere, deep in my kid-mind, that they were doing their jobs with love.

To my second grade teacher, Mrs. LaBove, for her gentleness and patience, and for letting me stay inside at recess when one of the boys chased me around the playground and tried to kiss me. She was my savior, and she let me make artwork in her classroom, my favorite thing in the world to do, while the other kids played outside.

To my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Tighe, for giving me confidence after a lousy third grade year. Well, lousy for me—I got my first B. And that report I turned in on Mars, the god of war? It was really supposed to be about the planet Mars. And she still gave me an A. She wouldn't let me fail. She eventually became a principal. And now I have the pleasure of being Mrs. Tighe's facebook friend. I think that's cool.

To my sixth grade English teacher, Miss Wolfe. I was in Miss Wolfe's first class. She was right out of college, and we all thought she was the coolest thing. She made us recite "Amidst the mists and coldest frosts . . ." in front of the class. It gave me courage. And if you ask me to do it today, I still can. She went on to be in charge of the gifted and talented program at the intermediate school. My regret is that she retired a few years before my own children entered the program.

And finally, to my eighth grade English teacher, Mrs. Stumpf. It was the 1970s and Mrs. Stumpf was anything but mod. She was an older woman, and her style ran to suits in pastel colors. She wore her silver hair up in one of those 1960s poufy hairdos. She taught us how to diagram sentences, yet we all loved to go to her class. Crazy, right? Kids these days don't learn how to diagram sentences anymore. I think that maybe they should. But anyway, she had this rubber ball that she would toss out to us kids when she asked us questions. And we thought it was hysterical when she tied Gary's hair back with a ribbon to keep it from flopping in his eyes. She wanted to see his face.

I know now that if Mrs. Stumpf had been our teacher and something terrible had happened at our school, she would have held our faces in her hands and told us that she loved us. Any of those teachers would have. And as for Arnold? He played a kindergarten teacher in the film Kindergarten Cop. I love that movie, and so do my kids. Because the best parts are not when he saves the day, guns blazing, but when he's interacting with the kids. When he's teaching.