It never ceases to amaze me how students sitting in the same classroom with the same teacher can have such wildly divergent experiences. My senior year of high school (at an all-girls school in Toronto), I had a challenging economics class with a teacher I'll call Miss P. I believe there were 24 of us in the class. At least half thought she walked on water. Most of the others liked her very much. I was probably the only one who had a deep mistrust and gut-level dislike for her. I'm not sure I can explain it. I loved the material, I worked hard and I got an A in the class, but I never fell under Miss P's spell or joined her cult-like following.
I remember that I was one of four students named Cindy. Actually, there were three Cindys and a Cynthia, but that wasn't a distinction Miss P. cared to make. We all knew Cynthia detested the nickname. To this day, I think Miss P. is the only person alive to have gotten away with using it. But for some reason, Cynthia let it slide. Nor did any of my fellow Cindys seem to mind when Miss P. numbered us off and called us by number for the entire year. I was "Cindy #3." Either that, or she called me by last name like a sports coach. I thought it was rude and demeaning, but no one else shared my objection.
Miss P. was a very stylish dresser, and it was said that she never wore the same thing to school twice. I can't say I really noticed one way or another, but there was much speculation about whether she left the tags on and returned them to the store after wearing them, was a kleptomaniac, was secretly wealthy, or maybe had a twin sister or same-size friend with whom she traded clothes. Whatever.
The class was very difficult, and Miss P. would pace the room holding a ruler in her hand while explaining some of the more obscure theorems and principles. I didn't get to choose my seat in that particular class - I think it was the only room where I had an assigned place. Perhaps that helped Miss P. keep her Cindys straight. I remember being very frustrated that, if she went to one particular corner, I couldn't see her lips when she talked.
I had a brief but severe hearing loss as a child. For about six months, between the ages of 3 ½ and 4, I was legally deaf. An ear surgery corrected the problem, and my hearing has been almost perfect ever since, but I have always watched people's lips when they speak to help me make sense of the words. It's a habit, and it drives me crazy when I can't see people talking.
To her credit, Miss P. was very up on teenage trends and lingo. Although she did talk about "widgets" - those phantom products that are used as examples in every economics textbook ever written - she also explained "supply and demand," "the law of diminishing returns," "opportunity cost" and other concepts using stores and items most of the class cared about. Sometimes it was cosmetics. Sometimes it was jeans. Sometimes it was fast food. She was good at using real world examples. But I remember thinking that she was very sarcastic when she lectured, and she never seemed to care very much whether we were following her train of thought. And she wasn't the sort of teacher you could approach after class and confess that you didn't "get it." Most students consulted peers or the textbook to figure things out.
I'm sure most of my high school peers would have written a glowing review of Miss P., calling her one of the best and most influential teachers they ever had. I sat in the same room, in the same class, for the same inter minable year, but I had a very different experience. I'll confess without hesitation, as far as Miss P's popularity is concerned: I still don't get it.
-- Cindy Glover, Florida Atlantic University