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Symbolizing my glory days of teaching...
Loath to put all my eggs in one basket—vis-à-vis the past—I prefer to pivot from the present as I wend my way forward in time. Other than hanging on to certain family photos for sentimental reasons, I’d parted with class pictures from my illustrious teaching career in elementary education. That’s not to say, I haven’t cherished items from a bygone era, significant for what they symbolize to me.
As mentioned in a previous memoir, “Neat as a Pin,” I''ve kept a small plastic container of straight pins inherited from my retired predecessor who left them behind in the desk bequeathed to me in 1973.
In addition to tucking away that time capsule inside the drawer of my home/office desk, there’s a companion silver whistle with lanyard. This symbolizes recess—refereeing impromptu kickball games, or blasting it on my way to break up a fight. Most teachers preferred lunch duty to avoid the harsh outdoor elements. Not me! A diehard, I braved bone-chilling days bundled inside my ankle-length storm coat, trudging on frozen ground in fur-lined boots.
My other treasured item is a bar-height director’s chair I purchased from Roitmans. Two of my fellow instructors in the open-classroom setting of Center C already had one, starting a trend. A few years into teaching, and in the fifth-grade trenches at that, I acquired mine for $99. It was the perfect perch for story-reading time.
By the latter half of my career, open classrooms became outdated, and the school building underwent expansion to accommodate a burgeoning student population. The chair accompanied me to my brand new digs in room 108, the third-grade classroom I’d occupy until retirement in 2002.
There, the chair took on even greater significance. Since my students loved sitting on it, I incorporated the privilege of “sitting on the director’s chair” as one of my behavioral modification incentives. The chair also became an integral part of “show-and-tell,” whereby a student shared his/her creative writing endeavor aloud from a lofty position.
Long before my last day rolled around, the hunter green canvas had become faded and worn. Scuff marks scarred the footrest. No matter. I folded up a wounded warrior and transported it to the greener pasture of my office.
A little refurbishing with orange oil, and new canvas seat and back have restored the chair to its former grandeur. Resting on its laurels against a wall, that chair symbolizes my glory days of teaching.
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I can picture you out in playground, bundled up and watching the kids while snow is swirling up around you in a gale. I can also picture them laughing and having great fun at the same time, oblivious of the cold.
Ron
Sandie