Years ago, a master teacher and our school’s Academically Talented Instructor, Marianne, visited each 6th grade classroom to lead an introductory language lesson in French. As a new teacher, I was a little nervous about her joining our class, hoping my students would behave well. I shouldn’t have spent a moment worrying–she captured their hearts the minute she entered. Her sparkling blue eyes and the way they looked at each child, soaking them up in her gaze, was mesmerizing. And she was carrying a basket covered with a blue gingham cloth. Every student wanted to know what she was holding in that mysterious “Little Red Riding Hood” basket. She spoke to them in French, had them introduce themselves with a chosen French name, and taught them the French words for cheese (fromage) and bread (le pain). It was then Marianne pulled the cloth from the top of the basket to offer each child a small cube of cheese and a hunk of French bread as they attempted saying the words fromage and le pain. She delighted in the French names they had chosen and written on their name tents. She oohed and aahed over the clear French pronunciations spoken by many of the children. It was magic in the way she made each child feel special–extraordinary really. I watched her and how she spoke to the hearts of the students while enriching their minds.
Marianne had cast a spell on the children that morning, charming them with her love and intelligence. And that day, she also cast a spell on me, a spell that lasted a lifetime. I knew who I would aspire to become as a teacher after watching her at work. I watched and learned to really listen and respond with questions that would deepen understanding. I watched and understood to look for and celebrate the talents and gifts in each child. I watched and realized that teaching was more than a job, it was a calling. I watched Marianne with my students and knew that this was the most important and meaningful work one could do. She retired not that long after I had started teaching, but her impact stayed with me for my entire career and shaped who I strived to become every day I taught. She would be my North Star, always there and shining brightly as an example. When a colleague or friend might occasionally mention that I’m reminiscent of Marianne Houston, that is when I know I’m doing something right.
Last Sunday Marianne, my North Star, left this world. Her passing has me feeling lost and moorless. Who will I work to impress now? I remember telling her about my work in the PhD program after she asked me point blank, “Why are you doing this?” It is kind of crazy in that I just retired from teaching, and my career is seemingly in the rearview mirror. That aside, I told her about the rich discussions I have with my advisor on possible dissertation topics, and I shared how kind and thoughtful my fellow graduate students are. Then, I let her know how excited I am to try my hand at teaching college-aged students. As I finished my pitch, she smiled warmly and said, “Well, now you’ve made me want to do it, too.” At 91 years old, Marianne was still ready for a new adventure and open to learning new things. What an amazing example to follow! I will endeavor to be the kind of person she would seek out for conversation, someone she would be proud to call a friend.
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