Please Lord, Spare Me the Full Moon

By Deborah Hendricks Pierce

When I began teaching in the early seventies, I knew I was in it for the long haul. I knew this was my career, my calling, the fulfillment of a childhood dream. From as far back as my memory will take me, I had a longing to be a teacher. It never entered my mind to spend my life in any other way than in front of a classroom. This was cemented with I entered the first grade and loved my teacher so much I wanted to be just like her.

Im sure I lost no time telling this teacher what I wanted to be when I grew up. So she gave me little opportunities to practice teaching. When someone couldnt tie his shoes, she would ask me to teach him how. If a student was struggling, shed place me beside him to help. I was so proud! Any opportunity to teach was just taking me one inch nearer my destination. As I progressed through my school years, being assigned to help one of the slower students was an honor for me.

I was fortunate that those were the years teachers were absolutely dedicated to their calling and to their students. Those were the days when teaching was one of the few professions women could enter. And to get there usually meant someone was sacrificing for them to attend school. Completing their education was a culmination of hard work and determination. Teachers were respected and highly regarded by the public. All that combined, produced good teachers who were extremely proud to stand before children and be the planters of knowledge. As a child, to be like any one of them was my burning desire.

Never losing sight of my goal, I progressed through the grades. I may not have been the most academic kid on the block, but I was responsible. Teachers entrusted me with duties, jobs, and tutoring. In twelfth grade I was put in charge of a study hall! Upon graduation, I was one step closer to being a teacher.

I finished college early, and finally was a teacher. From the beginning of my days in the classroom, I wrote down funny things kids would say and do, because I just didnt want to forget them. As I moved from pre-school to kindergarten, then middle or high school, I had quite a treasure trove.

After retiring, I reflected upon my time in the classroom and decided maybe my friends were right in telling me I should write a book. I knew it would be fun to share my stories and experiences. From time to time, I would get out my old brown tattered notebook and write. And as I got older and older, I decided if I am going to ever write a book, I need to get moving. I knew Id rather write it myself, than to die and have someone run across my notebook and try to write my story.

Thus, a book was born! I delight in telling my story. Some pages will make you cry. Others will make you laugh. I dont begin to pretend I was the perfect teacher. This book does not allude to that. It paints a portrait of the inner workings of a classroom in todays world. It conveys the fact that when teaching children with special needs, subject matter sometimes takes a back seat. They came to us with such baggage. When I stop and think about the troubles those children carried on their shoulders, I marvel at how they managed to rise in the mornings and get to school.

As teachers, we had to look beyond the language and behavior in order to help these people. Our role as teachers extended way beyond our training. These were not the children of yesteryear. Most of them were products of drug-ridden homes and streets, absentee parents, video games, violence on television and movies, and absolute poverty. These influences rode on the bus with them and traveled right into the classroom where we were expected to teach, counsel, and police.

That may not have been the teaching of my childhood dreams, but somehow I saw the need to know what my priorities had to be each and every day. Given all the things I saw, heard, and dealt with, I dont believe I could ever have returned to a regular classroom. It woul

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2009
• ISBN: 9781465316349

Deborah Hendricks Pierce

Throughout my thirty-five years of teaching, including kids at risk to severely developmentally challenged, to learning disabled, and environmentally deprived, I shared stories with friends and family. Some were really funny and others were heart wrenching. But the beautiful part of all their utterings was the pure honesty with which they were told. As I told my stories, I was encouraged to write them in a book. I invite you to read my memoirs and follow my journey from a ghetto and a rural community in the south, then to the East Coast. The experiences I had were life changing and I have been blessed. Debby Hendricks Pierce

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Copyright © 2009 by Deborah Hendricks Pierce.

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Contents

PREFACE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

Dedication

Elaine and Tina

Terri and Val

PREFACE

Amidst all my teaching keepsakes, I found this tattered, yellowed piece of paper that I always kept on the bulletin board near my desk. I don’t know the thoughtful soul who wrote this, but it does reflect many of my silent orations to God, as I made my way through thirty-five years of teaching.

In the Middle of a Bad Day

Father,

Help me to recognize a bad day for what it is –

A day.

It does not represent the rest of the year,

Or the rest of the month,

Or even the rest of the week.

Keep me from making value judgments based on this day.

Keep me from deciding that the children are hopeless,

That my work is in vain,

And that I am a failure.

Oh, Father,

I’m discouraged and tired today,

But I’m not a failure.

I’m disorganized and frazzled today,

But the children know I love them.

It’s a bad day today,

But it’s only a day.

It will pass.

Give me the patience to wait it out,

And to hold my letter of resignation

Until tomorrow!

(author unknown)

And a P.S. from me:

Lord, – Please spare me the full moon!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To my former students, Elaine and Tina, whose perception and wisdom way beyond your years, helped light the way on even the darkest days.

To my two faithful, ever abiding co-workers, Terri and Val, who sometimes knew what I was thinking before I even thought it, and encouraged me to put my stories in a book.

To my cousin, Lynda, who challenged me to finish this project and who typed the final manuscript and designed the cover.

To my husband, Ken, who did everything possible to assist me in this endeavor, making sure I had everything I needed. Love isn’t a sufficient word.

To my daughter, Sara Janusz, who put up with a lot each evening upon my returning from work and a difficult day, and has blessed us with three beautiful grandchildren, Coleman, Jackson, and Addison. And who gave me the perfect gift from my daughter for Mother’s Day:

As the only child of the author of this book, I found myself occasionally resenting my mom’s other kids when I was young. As I got older, I realized that I would not have felt that way if my mother had been an ordinary teacher who went to work every morning and came home every afternoon, leaving her job behind. But, to my mother, this was not a job, it was a calling. Her kids at school became part of our family. I remember my dad buying things for them, my mom taking calls from them and driving them to and from work, and letting some of the girls wear my Prom and Homecoming gowns. I remember my mom discussing her beginning of the year talks, where she would set the students straight on her expectations, the times throughout the year when she would have to say or do something crazy to keep their attention and lighten the mood, when these kids were dealing with issues more serious than any teenager should ever face, and then finally planning the end of the year picnics, where every kid would get an award that my mother would spend hours dreaming up.

Along with the students that my mother would laugh with, agonize over, and cry for, I was also fortunate to come to know many of her colleagues well. My mom always made friends easily and to this day, five years after retirement when most work friends are just people you exchange Christmas cards with, she still has lunch on a regular basis with Terri and Val, otherwise known as the girls. I would call it more of a family reunion than anything else, because they are certainly like sisters to my mom, and without a doubt they are like aunts to me.

There was a time, as a young girl, that I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps and become an English teacher, but the older I got I realized that I am neither the most patient person nor the most compassionate. These are qualities wholly embodied by my mother, the ability to always pull for the underdog and push individuals to reach their potential, whether that meant a high school student learning to write a proper sentence or guiding me in how to be a better wife and mother. When I was growing up we always ate dinner together as a family. Over the years at our table I had the privilege of hearing all the stories that you are about to read. Get your box of tissues ready, because you may laugh so hard that you cry, and you may find some stories so touching that you shed a tear, but I can assure you that you will enjoy the journey through my mother’s classroom.

Sara (Pierce) Janusz

CHAPTER 1

Having taught school for thirty-five years, at some point during each of those years, I would say to myself I should write a book. I saw and heard so many unbelievable things at school, that finally, the time has come to share my stories.

In the early seventies, as I was entering the final round of preparing to teach school, I was approached by the professors of a new wave in education called Early Childhood Development. Not sure why or who was responsible it had been determined that I was a good candidate for this program. Wow! I felt honored to be handpicked for this program, however, in retrospect, it may be that I had been seduced into being groomed for the Model Cities Program in Little Rock, Arkansas. This was the educational component of a generously federally funded government project aimed at giving pre-school, disadvantaged children a better chance of succeeding in elementary school. Admittedly, I had always had a heart for the needy. This would be my opportunity to utilize the ‘inner missionary’ in me!

By December, 1971, I had finished my studies at the University of Central Arkansas in Conway, Arkansas. By then it was virtually certain I would teach for the Model Cities Program, however, I consented to interview at an all African-American elementary school in the East Side of Little Rock.

Now, one thing I would like my readers to understand clearly, is that even after the 1957 Little Rock Central High School desegregation, where a few brave African-American students walked solemnly up the steps for the very first time to the ‘all white’ school, this by no means was an end to fear, anxiety, disrespect of one race toward another. This book includes racial slurs, epithets, disrespect, anger, and finally, in many cases, love, respect, and abiding friendship of one race toward another.

Included in this book are actual letters written by students, not only from the ‘notorious’ south but also from the coastal north where I concluded my teaching career. Names have been changed for obvious reasons, but the student quotes are actual, uncensored. So hold on to your hats and get ready for laughter, tears, shock, and maybe an understanding of what happens to teachers who long to share the wealth of their knowledge with the adults of tomorrow.

After student teaching in an all African-American school in Menifee, Arkansas, I felt somewhat prepared for my interview – that is, until a large mouse (looked like a rat to me!) decided to join in at the interview. A very nice, well dressed African-American gentleman greeted me and asked if I would like to ‘rest’ my coat. He was the principal of the school. Shortly after ‘resting’ my coat on a rack and being seated, I glanced around just in time to notice our little rodent friend as he started to make his way around the interview room, using the chair rail that wrapped the room, meaning that he would eventually arrive perfectly even with my shoulders. To fully appreciate this scenario, you would have to have an awareness of my demonstrative fear of those ‘four-legged, long-tailed creatures!’ It usually manifested itself with some form of dancing, screaming, and of course, cussing completely out of control. Well, with one eye on the principal and one eye on the mouse, we exchanged introductions. By then, Mr. Mouse (a very polite term knowing my history) had made his presence known to the principal, who quickly shooed him under the door. This all happened so fast, that by God’s good grace we were all spared the show for which I had become so famous! With that out of the way, the interview continued, and culminated with a contract offer.

Knowing I had the Model Cities interview coming up in a few days, I opted to put the elementary school ‘on hold’. Sometimes, in retrospect, I think I should have just ‘rested’ my coat and taken up with the mice instead of the Model Cities Program.

By the time Christmas holidays were coming around, and I was headed home, I had been officially hired by Model Cities, as a pre-school teacher on the East Side of Little Rock. Upon my return from Christmas break, I was to report to the ‘big’ office and see what needed to be done until my classroom building was completed. As it turned out, I was probably the most highly paid errand girl that Arkansas had ever produced! As the weeks rolled by and I ran, fetched, and ordered supplies from a ‘bottomless’ budget, and helped out in training seminars, we were experiencing a ‘monsoon’ season. I thought the sun just might not ever shine again. Our building location was in a low-lying area. Construction was at a speed of ever so slow . . . . to stop. I was so anxious to get in my own classroom with my own little kids, and work the miracles of my teaching dreams.

Didn’t it rain