Anastasia

            Long ago, I began my second career, teaching.  There was so much I needed to learn.  I got the job by having developed the reputation in my old job of being able to turn around difficult groups of kids.  Note to self:  When you are hired specifically for your ability to work with difficult students, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

            The memories of that first group of kids, the first that I could truly call “my kids,” are still vivid within my aging skull.  One of these young beings, Anastasia, brings a smile to my face every time I think of her.  Well, now I smile; back then I’m sure I walked around with a constantly surprised and frustrated look on my face.  

            Annie was an exceptionally brilliant young lady, and because of this I held her to a higher standard than the rest of the class.  She was also more mature than the average sixth grade student, particularly in the way she liked to dress.  

            From the first writing assignment, I knew Annie had a gift with words.  She was clear, precise and could unveil “her” world to her audience.  That is where the trouble began.  Once I saw what Annie could do, I wouldn’t accept second best.  Most of the rest of the class was starting the year with average, to sub-average writing ability and I expected them to do their best and progress.  I wanted the same from Annie, but that meant more effort than she was willing to give.  She felt the higher expectation was unfair, especially when I handed work back for her to redo.    

            Our relationship was punctuated with misunderstandings.  The first thing I misunderstood was Annie’s morning behavior.  I knew that she was on the swim team, and when I was a kid swim teams worked out in the morning.  When Annie would walk in at the beginning of the day with wet hair, I assumed that she had just finished practice.  

            I am an extremely energetic morning person, and Annie was extremely not.  Each wet-haired morning, at 9:00am, Annie would trudge into the classroom, shoes scraping along the tight-knit carpet, hunched over, head down, her wet, dark-brown hair pinned back except for one long, beautiful, corkscrew curl dangling over her left eye. I would assume that she had been up exercising for hours and that her entry behavior was simply her way of expressing a bad attitude.

            I would greet Anastasia loudly and enthusiastically, trying to get her energized for the day. 

            “Good morning!” I would boom to Annie each morning, trying to get her energized for the day.  “Aren’t you excited to be alive?”  I had no idea that my enthusiasm was considered borderline torture by my 12-year-old zombie. 

            “Unnngh.”

            “Come on Annie, it’s a great day!”

            “Unnngh.”

            “Annie, before you start your morning work, look over your exposition paper.  I put it back on your desk. There are a few things you need to give a little more attention to.”

            “What, again?  You have to be kidding,” Annie bellowed with her first real words of the morning, her long curl whipping over as her head snapped up.  

            “Nope, not kidding.  Give it a look over.  You’ll be able to find the problems pretty easily.”

            I agreed to wait until well after 10:00am to focus my peppiness on Annie.  At her conference, I also brought up the lack of modesty in the way Annie dressed for school.  Her mom suggested that I let her express her individuality through her wardrobe choices.  I suggested that I would hold Annie accountable to the school dress code, which would mean she would either be sent home or have to cover up with ugly old sweats from the nurse’s office if her wardrobe choices did not begin to cover more skin.  That did not improve my popularity with the family.  Annie tested me on that policy throughout the year, always choosing the ugly sweat option over the calling for a ride home option.  

            In the springtime, we had the Drug Abuse Resistance Education (DARE) program in our school.  The culmination of the program was the “DARE Essay Contest,” which was an expository piece stating the student’s resolve and plan to resist drugs and alcohol.  No matter what I did to inspire Annie to do her best, she continued to turn in work far below her ability.  I think the essay contest was where she had decided to “make her stand” against higher expectations. I handed Anastasia’s work back to her time after time; close to 20 rewrites.  Eventually, someone must have convinced her that she might want to go outside with the rest of the girls instead of rewriting an essay over and over during her recess.  The final product was outstanding.  

            Annie won the essay contest.  There were no other papers near the quality that she had created.  The DARE officer then sent the essay off to the National Headquarters, where it was recognized as exceptional. 

            In the years since, Annie has continued to send Christmas cards and presents.  When she graduated from high school she had to submit an essay as part of the application process for a college scholarship.  The paper was to be an exposition about someone that was influential in her life, and that person was me.  

            Annie wrote, “I wish I had realized he was helping me.  I thought he was hard on me because he didn’t like me.”  Annie candidly talked about the rough times we had together, and thanked me for not giving up on her or letting her do less than her best.  She said she knew how that had made a positive impact on her life and character.  

            I believe I taught Anastasia to be her best.  I know she taught me to be a better teacher.