There's something mystical about the teacher-student dynamic. I am now older than many of my childhood teachers were, and contemplating going into a teaching career myself. But when I think of the people who taught me English, science, math, history, social studies, etc., they are always "Mr." or "Mrs." So-and-So. Most of them occupy a lofty, exalted place in my memory. They were never real people, but rather all-knowing, all-powerful transmitters of knowledge and judges of effort. Maybe it's better that way. I'm not sure I'd have wanted to know too much about their foibles or frailties. Perhaps being a bit intimidated by the towering figure at the head of the class made me work harder. Then again, maybe not.
There was one teacher who did become a real person to me, and I know I learned a great deal from him. He was the son of a Cuban father and French mother (or was it the reverse?) and he taught foreign languages at my middle school. Depending on which subject he was teaching me at the time, I called him either Señor Gutiérrez or Monsieur Gutiérrez. I'm pretty sure his first name was Ramón, but I couldn't swear to it. I knew his first name at one point. That's more than I can say for many of my teachers.
I first met Señor Gutiérrez when I was in the 6th grade. My family moved often, and I had already attended six schools in four countries when I arrived in his Spanish I classroom. As a toddler and kindergartener, I had been fluent briefly in both Portuguese and Spanish. Five or six years had passed, and I had forgotten both, but they were probably imprinted in my subconscious. Señor Gutiérrez discovered that I had a natural aptitude for languages, and was amazed by how quickly I picked up the material he was teaching. About midway through the semester, he appealed to the principal of the school to move me up a level, making me the youngest student in a class of 7th and 8th graders.
Even in the more advanced class, I still picked things up very quickly. In a different scenario, I might have found myself in the uncomfortable position of being both the "new kid" and the "teacher's pet." Somehow, Señor Gutiérrez made the transition easy and managed to encourage me without singling me out or embarrassing me in front of the other students.
A year later, my father battled the school administration to pull me out of a Latin class that was required of all 7th graders. My father, who had been forced to study Latin throughout secondary school, was adamant that I not suffer the same fate. "Latin is a dead language," he railed. "If my daughter is going to study another language, it should be something useful!" Señor Gutiérrez risked disfavor with the principal by writing a letter offering to accept me in his French I class. It was about six weeks into the semester when I finally got permission to make the transfer. Unfortunately, unlike Spanish, I had never lived in a French-speaking country. If I had joined the class right then, I would have been desperately behind.
Monsieur Gutiérrez came to the rescue. He and my father struck a deal, and Monsieur Gutiérrez agreed to tutor me privately for an hour a day after school until I caught up. I wouldn't join the French class until I was ready.
That only took three weeks.The secret of our success was that Señor/Monsieur Gutiérrez flipped back and forth among English, Spanish and French to show me patterns and similarities in the languages. By relying on his intuition, rather than a rigid structure, he was able to really connect with me and tap directly into my learning process. He often abandoned the textbook and shared stories about his childhood, or had me decribe experiences in my life using useful Spanish and French vocabulary
Mr. Gutiérrez doesn't tower in my memory the way the more stern and remote teachers I had still do. But I have a warm feeling of gratitude, and maybe even friendship, when I think of the unimposing, personable man who went out of his way to help me. I can even imagine meeting him again someday, and calling him Ramón, if that is indeed his first name.
-- Cindy Glover, Florida Atlantic University