While I have given my grandmother many mentions in
my blog, and she was no doubt a great influence in my life, there is someone
else who means the world to me and has influenced me in several areas of my
life. Tonight, I break my own
rule of changing names to tell you about my teacher and friend, Mrs. Vera W.
Scarbrough.
I suppose I have known Vera all my life. She taught both my mother and
aunt in high school, she even played the piano at my parents’ wedding. I first became personally acquainted
with her in 1988 when I joined the Baptist church, where she has been the
organist for the church for many years.
When I was a sophomore in high school, I
transferred to the school where she taught. Truth be told, she is one of the reasons I begged my
parents to allow me to transfer. I
knew that I would get a better education at a smaller school and somehow felt
that she would be a great part of it.
I had Vera for Advanced English II, III and IV. I always say that she is the very
best teacher I have ever had, yet her approach to teaching is nothing less than
unorthodox. Over the years,
I’ve wracked my brain to remember how she
taught us anything. I think that
is the characteristic of the best teachers—they teach you things and you don’t
even know you’re learning. It
wasn’t all about verbs, nouns and prepositions, nor was it all about
Shakespeare, Chaucer or even Hemmingway or Lee. She could stand in her classroom and talk about nothing (a
little something she called “birdwalking”) for 50 minutes and then the bell
would ring. Over the three years I
spent in her classroom, I was more than prepared for college. She was a tough teacher, but very
fair. If she saw potential in you,
you better bet she was going to push you to do your very best—or else.
When I started at OHS, I was a very shy kid. Vera knew that. Yet, she seemed to make it her mission
to bring me out of my shell as much as possible. I took her Drama class my second semester there, tried
out and was cast in the 1990 school play. While it didn’t bust me all the way out of my shell, I
think it at put a crack that couldn’t be repaired, and that was a good
thing. She, more than anyone I’ve
ever known, endeavored to instill in me a sense of self-confidence, self-esteem
and worth. She recently told me
the story of the first paper I ever turned into her and she gave it back full
of red marks, she said I was completely crushed. Yet, she said she saw potential in me, and made it her
mission to make me live up to it. I think because I had known her for so long,
I feared not living up to her expectations for me.
Our relationship outside the classroom was very
good as well. As the
organist at my church, she is the first one who gave me the chance to fill in
for her. I will not forget that as
long as I live. Sunday, June
17, 1990, I was filling in at the organ, with her blessing. She not only was fellow church
member and my English teacher, she is the mother of one of my oldest, and
dearest friends, the one I refer to as “Morgan” in my blog.
Here’s my confession: Were it not for Vera’s
dedication as a teacher, educator, mentor, and most of all, friend, I don’t
know where I would be today.
She has taught me lessons too concrete to be found in any textbook. Vera has a personality larger
than life, and I think that’s what sets her apart as an educator. I have never known a single person to
ever come out of her classes and say “God, I hate Mrs. Scarbrough. She’s a terrible teacher.” Instead, how rare is it to have
everyone say “She’s the best teacher I ever had. She cared about me.”
She retired a few years ago, and I think that’s a shame, because talents
like hers are one in a million. If she taught us nothing else, we all learned
that “a lot is two words.” I
could expound upon her passion and influence for days, but I’ll digress. There are several people in my
life of whom I think every single day. I can honestly say that Vera is one of them. While I have not been in her
English class for over 21 years, her influence in my writing is still alive and
well today. Actually, I’m
almost afraid to post this, because I know that I probably haven’t followed all
of the mechanics of the language, but who cares? I already had a love for writing when I got to her, but she
made me strive to be my best. My blog
is a result of her hard work. This is a loving tribute to a lady, who second only to
my late Grandmother, has touched my life in ways that words fail.
I sit here reading this tribute, tears streaming down my face and think "I am not worthy." I remember our first real encounter, you as a new student, coming to a new school, entering a world of new everything. You looked as though (here I will pull a line from the old westerns) you were "shaking in your boots." You timidly sat down in the farthest row bordering the bookshelves on one side of the classroom, but in the front seat. I thought: this precious child needs a strong dose of self-confidence. You had no doubt heard about me from other students, that I was ruthless in marking up a paper, etc. etc. and I had heard about you from your aunt, that you were insecure, etc. etc. At the onset of each new school year, I went over my students' expectations and classroom rules. At the same time, I inserted comical remarks and always read a silly old literary piece that was full of grammatical errors about a hillbilly family moving to "Californyee"...reminiscent of the Clampets for sure...the idea behind this action, that change would come about, but we would still use good English and good manners in the classroom. As I read each atrocity that violated the English language in the worst way, I noted you began smiling and eventually were laughing aloud with your classmates, who by this time, (here I go again using figurative language),were rolling in the aisles. I had won your approval, perhaps, and after that day, you opened up your head and your heart and let me pour in all that I could. I saw you react to my most brutal criticisms on the page and yes, on the stage as well. Sometimes I wondered, as I did with many of my students: "why don't they hate me,(I am sure some do), or tell me off?" (a few did). When I would have you rewrite a thesis statement for research the "umpteenth" time, or when I would have you to stand up for your convictions and not back down, or continuously prod you to explain why a character behaved a certain way, I thought: "He's going to break down crying or smack me one." One time, I believed you to be on the verge of crying, as you teared up ever so much. After many such encounters, your confidence began to grow. We were friends, but each of us knew there was a line separating teacher/student. You learned respect and grammar..(for sure...one of my best prodigies on the grammar) and I learned tolerance and patience. And so, over the years, from school, from church, from simply knowing you as I do, we have a unique relationship. I like to compare it with Harper Lee's Scout and Boo...Scout being scared to death of the disorderly Maycomb resident about whom she has heard so much, but yet simply utters the sweetest "Hello Boo" as she joins him to swing in the last chapter of TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD. Boo's just saved Jim's life and she knows their being together through the world of myth, memory and truth, has created a friendship that will last forever. NOTE: There is no paragraphing in this comment b/c I have hit "enter" before and my manuscript publishes before I am finished or disappears. Oh to be technically astute!
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