When I look back over my many long years of education, I can think of very few classes that made a lasting impact in my life. I'm kind of thinking that the list should be longer than that. But, most of what I do (and I think I do it pretty well) has been self-taught.
The First Course The first class that I know made a difference was a quarter elective class in eighth grade. Seriously, who has a life-altering class in junior high? I don't think I signed up for the class. I think it's just the way my schedule worked out. I had to take a speech class.
I had a lot to learn. I remember that my first speech wasn't really planned out. I thought I could wing it. I specifically remember my mother asking me if I was ready. She probably should have asked to have a listen. She didn't and I fumbled through my speech with a whole lot of room for improvement. There were a lot of bad speeches presented in that class. However, I listened. I learned about introductions, wrapping things up with a conclusion, and a huge dose of preparation and poise in between.
The teacher was strict. And, good for her. She wanted us to learn and do our best. Nobody got a 100 when they gave a presentation in Speech class. Well, that is, nobody but me. And, I did it twice. It was a large junior high school, but gossip flew all over the place when that happened.
A few years ago, I discovered one of the reviews of a speech I gave in that class, along with the teacher's name. I contacted the school district and asked if they could deliver a message for me. I wanted to thank her for teaching me skills that I've used my entire life. Now, I've taught long enough to know that not many students write to thank their teachers for anything. And, certainly, the thanks rarely comes a few decades later. I seriously doubt if this woman remembered me. But, my message found its mark. I got an email reply from the teacher and I think it's safe to say that I made her day.
'Riting I really can't credit any course for my writing skills. I think part of it must be a gift and part of it comes from a lot of practice. The skills certainly weren't honed when I was in high school. I will never forget (or forgive) the teacher who read my book report to the class as a poor example. Well, I learned a lot that day which she never intended to teach. I learned one really wrong way for a teacher to instruct a class.
The next book report was oral. I knew what to do. I blew everyone away. No student or teacher was prepared for what I could do. Of course, this teacher was not one to praise any student (another method I learned not to follow in a classroom setting). Her only comment was, "I was a bit breathy." She did, however, tell her next class how amazing I was. A lot of frustrated friends rushed to share the news.
Something happened between high school and my master's classes. By then, my papers were read as worthy examples. And, it blew the professors' minds that I usually didn't have rough drafts. I just sat down and wrote. That's when I first started hearing the word "gift" to describe what I do with words.
So, what caused this change in my writing? I think it was continued practice. I kept a journal every day of college and I still do every time I travel. And, the more I travel, the better the travel writings get. At least, in my very not always humble opinion. It is true. We all know what practice makes.
No 'Rithmatic I knew quickly where my skills were. I might use a little geometry and gridding when I create my murals, but I can't say that math and I have ever been friends. No math class ever changed my life, not one little bit. But, that said, I can't think of an art class that did either. Everything I do as an artist has been self-taught. My cartoons have been with me throughout my childhood and I practiced a lot in math class. Thanks to a heavy influence from Charles Schulz, I developed my own style of cartooning that has done quite nicely for me. Nobody taught me to do the portraits I draw, which are my best souvenirs from my world travels. And, on my own, I figured out how to paint murals of any size on any wall. That has taken me around the world. So, I guess it is fair to say that I'm better than good enough (a standard that I will never be satisfied with).
Before I continue on to another topic, this is a good place to mention another elective that positively impacted my life. It was typing. I took typing back in the days of typewriters instead of computers. Everyone hated the class. Everyone hated the sound of the teacher's voice as she said, "A, S, D, F, G" or "H, J, K, L, Semi, Space". Yep, we all hated it. But, I never dreamed that I would one day spend large chunks of almost every day sitting at a keyboard typing. And, I never have to look at my fingers - unless I need to type numbers. I'm very thankful for that awful class.
Modern Languages I should be so far beyond monolingual. I studied Latin for three days. There was a smattering of Tagalog and Arabic. I had three months of Spanish in college. There was a year of German and two years of Dutch studies. To top off all of that, I studied French for three years. In most of these languages, I would be hard-pressed to string together enough words for the most simple of sentences. In a life or death situation, I'd be dead.
Surprisingly, I have my most success with Spanish. I have found Spanish speakers to be the most gracious and patient liars on the planet. Almost every one of them tells me that my Spanish is wonderful. They say, "I wish my English was so good after only three months of study." Because of their amazing patience, I am able to communicate almost any thought I need to say with a perfect gringo accent. I know very well how bad I sound. I know this because on occasion I have met the Spanish speaker who feels the need to correct every mistake that I make. Every sentence needs correcting. Every dang sentence! Honestly, I can't say even one sentence without a mistake in español. Believe me, it doesn't take long for me to stop talking to those people. I prefer gracious liars.
There is a reason for my minimal success in Spanish. I've never had to use most of the other languages I've studied. Usually someone speaks English, and I just consider that a blessing from God and immediately give up attempts with a foreign tongue. But, I've traveled across a large portion of the Spanish-speaking world. And, I've had to use it to get around. When push comes to shove, and there is no way around it, I will habla a little español. I've done it in Spain, Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Paraguay and the Dominican Republic. I cannot say that practice makes perfect. But, I can say that it has helped me communicate. And, as far as I'm concerned, most people don't care if it is perfect as long as they understand what you are trying to say.
Through It All So, just like everyone else, there were a lot of teachers in the mix to get me as educated as I am. Many I've forgotten. Some I certainly wanted to forget. But, I have one in my life that I've kept in contact with over the years. She knows she's the only one. And, I certainly hope that everyone has a Madame Heine in their life.
When I grew up, nobody traveled. I went to Miami Beach one summer and it was absolutely huge. Nobody traveled that far. Almost every family vacation we ever took was to the Smoky Mountains. Perhaps eight hours in the car was as much as my parents could stand? And, with four kids, I completely understand that. But, Madame Heine traveled. She shared her stories and she fully expected us to travel as well.
But, like I said, nobody in Ohio traveled.
I fully never expected to leave the state. However, Madame Heine shared slides (and if you don't know what those are, you are just too young) of her trips to Paris. She prepared French onion soup and escargot for us to eat in class. She started so many sentences with, "When you go to Paris . . . " And I knew full well that when I went to Paris, I was supposed to go to Notre Dame Cathedral, the Louvre, Montmartre and Sainte Chapelle. But, in my heart, I never thought I'd leave Ohio, let alone venture off to Europe or Paris.
Well, life has its surprises.
I traveled a lot of the world before I finally made it to Paris. It took me twenty-five years to get there. But, after I did, I had to contact Madame Heine. I told her that I finally saw Notre Dame Cathedral. I tasted French onion soup and snails, which really didn't compare to what she prepared for us. I remembered the locations she suggested so I visited the Louvre, walked the Left Bank, strolled down the Champs Elysees, and wandered around the Arc de Triomphe. And one day, years later, I did cartooning work for Notre Dame Cathedral. I told Madame Heine about all of this, and she cried.
My French skills are not what they once were (or what they should be) but a little came back to me when I traveled with a group to the Democratic Republic of the Congo for one of my murals. While I was there, I was the only one in the team of eleven who spoke any French. Funny, none of us spoke Swahili either. So, I served in a minor capacity as translator. Very minor. But, I can shop for souvenirs like nobody's business even in French. And, when I returned to Ohio, I had to contact Madame Heine one more time and tell her about my success thanks to her classes.
I contacted Madame Heine after the fire in Notre Dame Cathedral. I knew she would be devastated. And, I told her that I needed to see her again. It had been too long. So, I made my way to her home a few weeks ago. I'm so glad I did. She had so many students over the years. I have, too. I know I don't remember all of them. She most likely doesn't either. But, she remembers me.
Now, I've heard conversations about students who say that they were influenced by a special teacher in their life. I'm hoping everyone has at least one of those. But, it never occurred to me that teachers might be positively influenced by students in their classroom. However, on this trip, I realized that I had a positive influence on Madame Heine.
One of the best presents I ever received, perhaps the very best, was a badge maker that my mother found. It was the perfect present for a budding young artist in high school. I sold badges for basketball and football games. Life would have been so much easier if I could have printed the art with computer generated graphics, but this was in the Dark Ages before computers. Every illustration was hand-drawn and hand-colored. And, as it turned out, Madame Heine liked my badges and my artwork. She purchased some of my work and added more to her collection over the years. And, for the rest of her teaching career, she wore a badge every day. So, she had to think of me a lot over the years. Her collection, after retirement, is now on display in her home.
Another thing I remember about Madame Heine was the fact that she helped me in math. I hated story problems. Really, I truly hated a lot about math. But, Madame Heine was such a special teacher in my life. And, one more time, I want to say merci.
The First Course The first class that I know made a difference was a quarter elective class in eighth grade. Seriously, who has a life-altering class in junior high? I don't think I signed up for the class. I think it's just the way my schedule worked out. I had to take a speech class.
I had a lot to learn. I remember that my first speech wasn't really planned out. I thought I could wing it. I specifically remember my mother asking me if I was ready. She probably should have asked to have a listen. She didn't and I fumbled through my speech with a whole lot of room for improvement. There were a lot of bad speeches presented in that class. However, I listened. I learned about introductions, wrapping things up with a conclusion, and a huge dose of preparation and poise in between.
The teacher was strict. And, good for her. She wanted us to learn and do our best. Nobody got a 100 when they gave a presentation in Speech class. Well, that is, nobody but me. And, I did it twice. It was a large junior high school, but gossip flew all over the place when that happened.
A few years ago, I discovered one of the reviews of a speech I gave in that class, along with the teacher's name. I contacted the school district and asked if they could deliver a message for me. I wanted to thank her for teaching me skills that I've used my entire life. Now, I've taught long enough to know that not many students write to thank their teachers for anything. And, certainly, the thanks rarely comes a few decades later. I seriously doubt if this woman remembered me. But, my message found its mark. I got an email reply from the teacher and I think it's safe to say that I made her day.
'Riting I really can't credit any course for my writing skills. I think part of it must be a gift and part of it comes from a lot of practice. The skills certainly weren't honed when I was in high school. I will never forget (or forgive) the teacher who read my book report to the class as a poor example. Well, I learned a lot that day which she never intended to teach. I learned one really wrong way for a teacher to instruct a class.
The next book report was oral. I knew what to do. I blew everyone away. No student or teacher was prepared for what I could do. Of course, this teacher was not one to praise any student (another method I learned not to follow in a classroom setting). Her only comment was, "I was a bit breathy." She did, however, tell her next class how amazing I was. A lot of frustrated friends rushed to share the news.
Something happened between high school and my master's classes. By then, my papers were read as worthy examples. And, it blew the professors' minds that I usually didn't have rough drafts. I just sat down and wrote. That's when I first started hearing the word "gift" to describe what I do with words.
So, what caused this change in my writing? I think it was continued practice. I kept a journal every day of college and I still do every time I travel. And, the more I travel, the better the travel writings get. At least, in my very not always humble opinion. It is true. We all know what practice makes.
No 'Rithmatic I knew quickly where my skills were. I might use a little geometry and gridding when I create my murals, but I can't say that math and I have ever been friends. No math class ever changed my life, not one little bit. But, that said, I can't think of an art class that did either. Everything I do as an artist has been self-taught. My cartoons have been with me throughout my childhood and I practiced a lot in math class. Thanks to a heavy influence from Charles Schulz, I developed my own style of cartooning that has done quite nicely for me. Nobody taught me to do the portraits I draw, which are my best souvenirs from my world travels. And, on my own, I figured out how to paint murals of any size on any wall. That has taken me around the world. So, I guess it is fair to say that I'm better than good enough (a standard that I will never be satisfied with).
Before I continue on to another topic, this is a good place to mention another elective that positively impacted my life. It was typing. I took typing back in the days of typewriters instead of computers. Everyone hated the class. Everyone hated the sound of the teacher's voice as she said, "A, S, D, F, G" or "H, J, K, L, Semi, Space". Yep, we all hated it. But, I never dreamed that I would one day spend large chunks of almost every day sitting at a keyboard typing. And, I never have to look at my fingers - unless I need to type numbers. I'm very thankful for that awful class.
Modern Languages I should be so far beyond monolingual. I studied Latin for three days. There was a smattering of Tagalog and Arabic. I had three months of Spanish in college. There was a year of German and two years of Dutch studies. To top off all of that, I studied French for three years. In most of these languages, I would be hard-pressed to string together enough words for the most simple of sentences. In a life or death situation, I'd be dead.
Surprisingly, I have my most success with Spanish. I have found Spanish speakers to be the most gracious and patient liars on the planet. Almost every one of them tells me that my Spanish is wonderful. They say, "I wish my English was so good after only three months of study." Because of their amazing patience, I am able to communicate almost any thought I need to say with a perfect gringo accent. I know very well how bad I sound. I know this because on occasion I have met the Spanish speaker who feels the need to correct every mistake that I make. Every sentence needs correcting. Every dang sentence! Honestly, I can't say even one sentence without a mistake in español. Believe me, it doesn't take long for me to stop talking to those people. I prefer gracious liars.
There is a reason for my minimal success in Spanish. I've never had to use most of the other languages I've studied. Usually someone speaks English, and I just consider that a blessing from God and immediately give up attempts with a foreign tongue. But, I've traveled across a large portion of the Spanish-speaking world. And, I've had to use it to get around. When push comes to shove, and there is no way around it, I will habla a little español. I've done it in Spain, Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Paraguay and the Dominican Republic. I cannot say that practice makes perfect. But, I can say that it has helped me communicate. And, as far as I'm concerned, most people don't care if it is perfect as long as they understand what you are trying to say.
Through It All So, just like everyone else, there were a lot of teachers in the mix to get me as educated as I am. Many I've forgotten. Some I certainly wanted to forget. But, I have one in my life that I've kept in contact with over the years. She knows she's the only one. And, I certainly hope that everyone has a Madame Heine in their life.
When I grew up, nobody traveled. I went to Miami Beach one summer and it was absolutely huge. Nobody traveled that far. Almost every family vacation we ever took was to the Smoky Mountains. Perhaps eight hours in the car was as much as my parents could stand? And, with four kids, I completely understand that. But, Madame Heine traveled. She shared her stories and she fully expected us to travel as well.
But, like I said, nobody in Ohio traveled.
I fully never expected to leave the state. However, Madame Heine shared slides (and if you don't know what those are, you are just too young) of her trips to Paris. She prepared French onion soup and escargot for us to eat in class. She started so many sentences with, "When you go to Paris . . . " And I knew full well that when I went to Paris, I was supposed to go to Notre Dame Cathedral, the Louvre, Montmartre and Sainte Chapelle. But, in my heart, I never thought I'd leave Ohio, let alone venture off to Europe or Paris.
Well, life has its surprises.
I traveled a lot of the world before I finally made it to Paris. It took me twenty-five years to get there. But, after I did, I had to contact Madame Heine. I told her that I finally saw Notre Dame Cathedral. I tasted French onion soup and snails, which really didn't compare to what she prepared for us. I remembered the locations she suggested so I visited the Louvre, walked the Left Bank, strolled down the Champs Elysees, and wandered around the Arc de Triomphe. And one day, years later, I did cartooning work for Notre Dame Cathedral. I told Madame Heine about all of this, and she cried.
My French skills are not what they once were (or what they should be) but a little came back to me when I traveled with a group to the Democratic Republic of the Congo for one of my murals. While I was there, I was the only one in the team of eleven who spoke any French. Funny, none of us spoke Swahili either. So, I served in a minor capacity as translator. Very minor. But, I can shop for souvenirs like nobody's business even in French. And, when I returned to Ohio, I had to contact Madame Heine one more time and tell her about my success thanks to her classes.
I contacted Madame Heine after the fire in Notre Dame Cathedral. I knew she would be devastated. And, I told her that I needed to see her again. It had been too long. So, I made my way to her home a few weeks ago. I'm so glad I did. She had so many students over the years. I have, too. I know I don't remember all of them. She most likely doesn't either. But, she remembers me.
Now, I've heard conversations about students who say that they were influenced by a special teacher in their life. I'm hoping everyone has at least one of those. But, it never occurred to me that teachers might be positively influenced by students in their classroom. However, on this trip, I realized that I had a positive influence on Madame Heine.
One of the best presents I ever received, perhaps the very best, was a badge maker that my mother found. It was the perfect present for a budding young artist in high school. I sold badges for basketball and football games. Life would have been so much easier if I could have printed the art with computer generated graphics, but this was in the Dark Ages before computers. Every illustration was hand-drawn and hand-colored. And, as it turned out, Madame Heine liked my badges and my artwork. She purchased some of my work and added more to her collection over the years. And, for the rest of her teaching career, she wore a badge every day. So, she had to think of me a lot over the years. Her collection, after retirement, is now on display in her home.
Another thing I remember about Madame Heine was the fact that she helped me in math. I hated story problems. Really, I truly hated a lot about math. But, Madame Heine was such a special teacher in my life. And, one more time, I want to say merci.
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