My Best Teaching Moment

A story: Joe was in my freshman Santa Ana, California English class. He never removed his uniform watch cap.  A handsome Chicano kid, he sat legs forward, slumped in his chair and always stared straight at me while he turned in nothing when I called for assignments. Except:

One day about 3/4 into the semester, Joe sauntered, vato style (leg forward, sort of moving head rhythmically, and adding some drag from the next leg) before striding up to my desk to hand in an essay.

The handwriting was exquisite and before setting the paper down I read the very beautifully written first paragraph. I looked up and saw that he’d watched me read it.

“Surprised, Mrs. Fishman?” His for show smirk was betrayed by what I believed was true pride that he had impressed me. I asked him to wait after the bell rang.

Joe, you can still get a decent grade in this class. You are observant; you clearly know the material, and I will do anything I can to help you. Hand in some back assignments. You can not only pass but get a good grade!

He didn’t. On the last day of school that year, I talked to him again. 

Joe, you gave yourself an F; I wanted to give you an A.

He walked away, forgetting the vato stride since there was no one else to observe it.

That was the year Jarvis’s Bill, Proposition 13 passed in California. Ronald Reagan was governor and funding for schools was cut mercilessly. Both Paul and I were newer teachers and were therefore “riffed,” a new verb for Reduction in Force. 

Paul had a summer job in Portland, I loved this area and got a teaching job in Beaverton. Three years later I went to Southern California and stopped to visit my friends and colleagues at Santa Ana H.S. 

As I walked through the hall, I saw Joe walking past. Joe! I called.  He saw me and answered: 

“Hey Mrs. Fishman, look what I’m taking.” He held up the green shiny covered freshman English book. “I’m graduating this year.”

That was the best teaching moment I’d ever had.