Passing

From the front of the room where I was explaining the difference between a complete sentence and a fragment, I could see her writing the note.

I watched her fold it into a neat square, write something on the front in light blue marker and stick it in her desk. ThatÂ’s when I walked back to where she sat, held out my hand and waited as she retrieved it and dropped it into my palm.

Every year I am amazed all over again when confronted with students who think I canÂ’t see what theyÂ’re doing because IÂ’m way up front while theyÂ’re way in the back of the class. Five desks back, even. ItÂ’s a barrier, they think, like the Great Barrier Reef that hugs northeast Australia. They underestimate my ability to troll the shallow waters.

A few minutes later, she did it again. Amazing, I thought, as I eased to the back of the room. Hand out, note in.

Later when I read the notes, I discovered that the second one was an apology for writing notes in class, and a promise to not write any more notes while I was teaching. So what I had was a note telling me there would be no more notes.

In a way, thatÂ’s what IÂ’m doing here. IÂ’m writing a column to say there wonÂ’t be quite so many columns in the future. (IÂ’m not promising there wonÂ’t be any. I know promises like that are hard to keep.) But they wonÂ’t be as frequent and thatÂ’s because IÂ’ve become a student again.

IÂ’m still teaching, but IÂ’m also taking online courses toward a masterÂ’s degree in creative writing, and I find that IÂ’ve got only so many creative words to go around. By Friday night, IÂ’m usually scraping the bottom of my brain.

Being a student again has refreshed my appreciation for student-associated burdens like homework and studying and rough draft, final draft, final final draft. And grades.

It’s so exciting when a professor writes a positive comment on one of my cyber-sent stories. I’m reminded that a good word goes a long way to encouraging better work the next time. I’ll even stay up half the night rewriting a scene or segment of dialogue in the hope of seeing “nice work” in the instructor’s comment section of my eCollege drop box at the end of the week.

Years ago when I first started teaching, I taped a quote to the top of my desk that said: “The five most important words are: “You did a good job.” Being on the other end of those words gives me even more appreciation for their power to motivate.

Words, I believe, are the building blocks of everything from families and cities to commerce and nations. They build up or tear down, reinforce or destroy. Equal in number and size, they can signal love or hate, truths or deceit. Written by the same hand, they can say very different things like, “How are you doing?” or “I’m sorry, Mrs. Spencer.”

I hope I choose my words carefully this year. And I hope my note-passer will focus instead on passing her classes.

I know thatÂ’s what IÂ’ll be doing.

Davalynn Spencer is a public educator in Tulare County. Questions or comments can be sent her at aboutyourkids@hotmail.com.