Three years of education for grades 7 through 9 will be hard to capture in one blog entry, however, there are significant memories and experiences that ignited “things” in me that I now refer to as passion(s)…I think that sometimes as people who want to truly know and understand who and what makes us the person we are in a moment, we must be brave or curious to go back in time to our memory banks and look at our “deposits”–those things that were put in motion for us as young impressionable teens trying to figure out life, school, and our giftings. Since I began writing about my early years of life, I am beginning to truly see the people and experiences that helped or hindered who I am today. In this entry, I want to focus on some positive moments during the awkward years of being a junior high student.

Meet how Susan and music collided together in 7th grade. Listening to music was part of our enjoyment in the home; my parents had a wide variety of albums that they played on the record player. There was opera, movie soundtracks, and vocalists with styles and names I no longer recall except for Nat King Cole, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Burl Ives…. But, what I do remember is that often the TV was turned off and the music was turned up and we enjoyed the sounds coming out of the speakers. There were evenings I watched as my parents danced in front of the fireplace, their feet gliding ever so smoothly and eloquently across the hardwood floor. I would sit on the couch and watch, and then there were the times dad held my hands and as I stood on his stockinged feet, he would glide me across the floor “dancing”. A love for music and the feelings it erupted in me began early in life with those living room seeds, which were watered and fertilized in 7th grade with a mandatory music class. My teacher was Miss Gase, who was young, very poised, perfectly groomed every day and had a no nonsense approach instilling music theory into our young minds. She was also the school’s choir director and because I loved to sing, I joined. Practicing in the classroom or the empty auditorium never bothered me. I was full of joy and confidence until our first performance in front of parents and teachers. My joy and confidence in front of full seats and bright stage lights were exchanged for fear. I was in the front row and to Miss Gase’s left as she began directing our arranged pieces. In the first few stanzas of our initial song, I must have gone white, pale, and I remember feeling flushed with heat and a need to throw up. Ever feel that way and try to escape? I had nowhere to escape unless I wanted to truly be the center of attention at that moment. I tightened my knees, clenched my toes inside my shoes, and hoped whatever was happening would leave soon before making a spectacle of myself. And then it happened. Miss Gase’s eyes made contact with mine. Without losing a movement of her hands that were directing our song, the choir and me singing out parts, she was able to point with her index finger towards the curtains of the stage while mouthing “are you ok?’….giving me a viable alternative to throwing up on the stage….and while that solution was perfect, it still meant I’d draw attention to myself if I suddenly walked off…but something magical happened. In that moment of eye contact with my teacher, I relaxed. The feelings of nausea and being overheated left my body and I was able to nod to her and mouth “I’m ok”. And I was.

I don’t think Miss Gase ever knew what her actions did for me that evening. I know what they did for me. My fears were acknowledged. I was seen. I was assured. I was given a chance to escape my fears. I stayed. I faced my fear and with a loving teacher, I replaced them with a newly learned confidence, one that would serve me well later in life as my love for singing grew and expanded for many audiences, but mainly for God. Thank you, Miss Gase.

Meet Mr. Noble.

As polished and elegant was Miss Gase, Mr. Noble was the opposite. He was an older, more seasoned teacher with a bald spot on the top of his head complimented by fluffy tufts of hair around his ears tinted with salt and pepper. His teaching methods weren’t what we’d call “safe” today (his paddle still hung on a corner of his desk) and the map pointer sometimes became a projectile aimed at a sleepy non-responsive student. Every week in our social studies book looked alike with reading, studying, quizzes and tests, but it was what he did with a blackboard and a piece of chalk that shone a new awareness in me–a love for words. Let me explain.

Every Friday Mr. Noble wrote a rather obscure word on the upper right corner of his chalkboard. When we came to class, it was our responsibility to write the word down in our notebooks and the assignment over the weekend was to find out the meaning of the word and write a complete sentence using it correctly. On Monday, when we came back to class for a new week, it was expected of us to have our research completed. This simple assignment was part of our grade.I wish I could remember all the words or phrases I learned from Mr. Noble in 7th grade social studies class, however, I’m sure those obscure words have and continue to make their way into conversations and written documents that I produce today. One phrase I DO remember is: Caveat emptor . If you don’t know what it means, well, how about you do an investigation, write it in a complete sentence and wait for a time when you can use it correctly when speaking with someone.

Meet Miss Roethke.

Miss Roethke was my 9th grade English teacher. She was another seasoned teacher by the time I was in her class. Tall, gray hair always coiffed, with round black glasses framing her blue eyes, she was serious and stern. She didn’t tolerate nonsense in her classroom either and anytime we were out of control she merely flicked the lights on and off a few times to regain our attention followed up with an admonishment. 

Miss Roethke used the upper right corner of her blackboard for similar practice as Mr. Noble. Each week, she’d write a word and it’s grammatical progression so we’d learn proper grammar. Lie. Lay. Laid.   There. Their. Then. Than. Except. Accept. (those familiar troublesome words!)

We read classic novels. We read poetry. We wrote stories. I loved it all! One of my favorites in her class? Listening. When Miss Roethke read poetry to us it’s a miracle I never fell asleep as her mouth and lips formed each word and phrase that made the lyrics jump off the pages as though dancing. The lilt in her voice was soothing and showed a side of Miss Roethke that was otherwise hidden. 

Another time that she appeared “real” to me was the Friday leading into spring break. Just because we’d be off school for a week didn’t mean we were escaping homework. Our assignment over spring break was to choose and read a book. To hold us accountable, we were required to write down the title and author on a sheet of paper she taped to the windowsill. Before leaving school that Friday, I stayed after my last hour and quietly entered her room. She was seated at her desk, a book in hand and we exchanged brief hellos as I walked past her to the window. With my back to her, as I was entering my information, I heard her ask “Miss Jewell, does your family have any special plans for spring break?” I looked up. I didn’t turn around. For a moment I was in shock. “Miss Roethke just spoke to me!” I pondered…she didn’t talk about our classroom work or a particular issue I may have had regarding  understanding conjugating a verb…she asked me about me and my family…I don’t remember what spring break held for our family that year so my answer was a brief “no, nothing special”. I walked into her classroom on a Friday afternoon feeling very much like an average awkward 9th grade girl, but I left with a new skip and bounce in my step and a smile on my face as I walked the many blocks it took to get home. Miss Roethke saw me. She acknowledged my presence on a quiet Friday afternoon in front of a sunny window. And with one simple question she showed me that in addition to being a stickler for learning proper English and enjoying a variety of literature, she engaged outside of all those requirements assigned to her by letting me see that a teacher would be curious about life outside her classroom.

Music. Words. Reading. Writing. Those and more were and remain vital to my passions. But of greater value from lessons learned in junior high years was “being noticed”. Being acknowledged, those one-on-one moments where a need or love to learn were seen, opened with the discovery of new songs to be sung, new books to read, new words to learn and use. New simple questions to be asked. Those beloved teachers are now long gone from the rooms and halls of South Intermediate Junior High but their instruction, their discipline, their encouragement echo in my memories and spill out into my life with many beautiful memories and lessons for my life as I continue to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Oh, did I tell you? Miss Roethke was a sister to Theodore Huebner Roethke, a famous poet. It was often that she read his writings to us, lulling us to a place of deep appreciation and relaxation, which is magical when you think of it, a classroom full of snarky 9th grade boys and girls. In those moments, listening to her, we were temporarily transported to another time and place. Thank you, Miss Roethke, for being stern, gracious, and passionate for the English language.