Teachers' Special Gifts

Last week, Laurie Wasserman published her essay 'Special Gifts' at the Teacher Magazine website. We asked other members of the Teacher Leaders Network to share their special-gift stories in our group blog. Here's what they had to tell us.

Cindi, a reading teacher in North Carolina, wrote:

I once had the opportunity to teach briefly in a school that held various personalities and characters from affluent families. That year, just as every other year, I began by asking students to write a journal entry on "the worst thing that ever happened to you." Most of them said things like "the worst thing that ever happened to me was when my mom took my DVD player out of my room" or "the worst thing was when we had to leave Disney World early because of bad weather."

Christmas holidays in that school were interesting in that I received so many gifts, it would take me three days to get them all home. I could have opened a bath and body store, and I had several cashmere scarves and numerous gift certificates to fine restaurants. My own children would wait anxiously at home to see all the loot. It was quite embarrassing.

When I began teaching remedial reading at a very different kind of school, things began to change. The journal entries now read "the worst thing that ever happened to me was seeing my brother get shot" and "the worst thing was when my dad went to jail." No DVD players in these bedrooms. And on the last day before holiday break, I would hear many stories like "I'll bring you a present after Christmas when my grandma gets paid..."

Well, today I received my first-ever gift from a student in this school. Niki, a sweet but troubled little seventh grader, brought me a haphazardly wrapped box this morning. I opened it, expecting some candy or a handwritten note. Instead I pulled out a little music box, white and pretty, with a winter scene on the top. I opened it and immediately my rambunctious last-day-of-school-before-break class became totally quiet as the sound of Silent Night tinkled across the room. In the box lay a single, tiny nail file.

Niki began trying to explain why she put a nail file in there, but I talked over her, telling her how badly I needed one. I told her that I loved the music box and gave her a hug. As she walked away, she turned and quietly said, "I used to listen to it when I was a little girl." I quietly gasped. Nicole had given me her music box. She had wrapped something meaningful to her, placed the only thing she could find in it, and handed it to me with more pride than I've ever seen her display over anything.

My first thought as I look at the music box sitting in my den tonight is how important this gift will always be to me. My second thought is that I don't know why anyone would ever choose another career. We are truly blessed...

Kathie, a middle school teacher in Los Angeles, wrote:

One of the best gifts I ever received was a handmade book given to me after I returned from my honeymoon. The book, titled "What I Think You Did on Your Honeymoon," came from Shonelle, a gifted, desperately poor fourth grader in Watts. Very few gifts create the same level of joy and laughter I got from that wonderful child. Every year my students gave me treasured gifts of effort, attention, love of learning, and appreciation.

Michelle wrote:

As an elementary teacher, I have received many sweet and touching gifts over the years. My most memorable gift was from a third grader who gave me a box of Celestial Seasons tea with a bow on top. It was so incredibly special because I am an herbal tea drinker. To have a child notice, remember and care so much about a teacher as to pick out the gift herself has stayed with me forever.

Dawn, a high school teacher in Georgia, wrote:

I received that "special" gift many years ago. I was working with a group of repeating science students. The class average for repeating the course was three times. They put together a book. In it every student wrote a message to me of what my class meant to them -- one even drew a class picture (so I would never forget who was who). When I am having a really tough day I pull it out, and it reminds me that I am in the greatest of all professions.

Kim, a teacher in Washington State, wrote:

One year, I had a "favorite" student from a low income family, and she was devastated that she couldn't afford to give me a present like some of my other students who "don't love you nearly as much as I do." I told her that while trinkets are nice and candy is sweet, the most meaningful gift to me is words and that her positive feedback was more encouraging and special to me than anything.

She came back from Christmas break having written me a beautiful letter. Then, at the end of the school year, she had every student in that class (it was 9th grade honors English) write me a note telling me what they had learned from me that year. She had compiled them into a scrapbook that I treasure. I still get a little weepy when I think of some of those words that I received. Not one of them mentioned essays or Latin roots.

Erin wrote, "You taught me how to read for pleasure."

Brian wrote, "You taught me that it's okay to think differently, and that I don't have to conform to what the world expects to be successful."

Liz wrote, "Because of you, I really know what it means to be compassionate and not judge a book by its cover. I have a new friend that I never would have given a second glance, but I knew that you would have treated her with the same kindness and respect that you use with everyone, so I did, too."

Sometimes when I feel like I'm struggling and teaching to a rock wall, I pull out those letters and remember why I continue to do what I do.

Susan, an family and consumer science teacher, wrote:

At our old school there was a desk right outside the principal's office that we referred to as the Charles Jennings Desk (name changed to protect the guilty). Charles was in the self contained Emotionally Disabled class (Disturbed and Disturbing in Charles' case). He was such a problem he had to ride the short bus where there was someone to watch him all the time.

Charles was only allowed into the general population for lunch, PE, and – of course – electives. (Because if Charles couldn't handle a #2 pencil, a sheet of notebook paper and a math book without at least two keepers, then it only made sense to mainstream him into my class where there was fire, knives and scissors -- with which he consistently ran.)

He was the only ED kid who managed to be so bad that he could still be given In School Suspension. That's why he had is own special desk in the principal's proximity. I endured three years with Charles because, I was told, "You're so good with him his parents requested that he be in your class." He wore me out and kept the rest of the class on edge.

I was in the middle of doing a demonstration for another class when Charles started banging on my door. I told him he'd have to come back later. He kept banging. Finally I stopped class to go deal with him.

"What??" I asked him.

"Here," he said, pushing a small package into my hand.

"Is this a present?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, kicking the door.

Inside was a silver charm in the form of a book. On the cover it had an apple and said, "To My Favorite Teacher." It was hinged, and inside it said, "Thank you for a good year."

I asked Charles if I could give him a hug. He said, "Yeah, as long as you don't tell anybody I like you."

I really was "charmed.”

Jim, a high school teacher, wrote:

Decorating my Christmas tree always brings back memories of students I have taught. The tree is full of special ornaments given to me over the years. Twenty-three years ago my Latin students asked me if I was putting up a tree for Christmas. It was my first year teaching and I had just moved into an apartment. They made plans to show up one evening with ornaments for a tree. I supplied the tree and some food. We had a great time.

The next day an economically disadvantaged girl who was unable to make it to the decorating party brought a small plastic snowflake to class and said that she wanted me to have it for my tree. It has had a special place there ever since. A couple of years ago I had a group of low level ninth graders over for some Christmas food and some storytelling during the final exam period. As they were leaving, one student lingered a moment and took a string from around her neck that had a small toy truck hanging from it. She hung it on the tree, as I will continue to do each year.

Merry Christmas!

Claudia wrote:

I have really enjoyed this discussion, and I kept trying to think of a gift of my own. My 'gift' was different, but one I still think about and smile.

The first year I taught, out of my area (teaching 6th grade, certified in secondary English and library science), in a tiny rural school, I decided to read A Christmas Carol to the class during quiet times. I certainly felt more in my element than I did teaching math and science. I 'got' Dickens! I was so eager to share with my students, and bring a classic into their lives.

The last day before break, we had a lot of the book left to go, so while the kids worked on their home-made Christmas presents for their parents, I read. I can remember how wonderfully focused that day was, and how full of good cheer.

When I finished the book and closed it, the classroom was hushed. Then the students began to applaud, completely spontaneously! I don't think I've ever matched that moment with another class. We all shared Ebenezer's redemption, and we left for home at the end of the day knowing we'd experienced real magic.

Not really a 'gift', perhaps, but no one's ever clapped for me with as much sincerity since that moment.

Kitty wrote:

After reading Laurie's article and the invitation to share, I thought of two "special gifts" that I had received. One came just this week from a rather reserved 5th grade boy who is a regular visitor to my school's library media center. I had made a trip over to his classroom to deliver a message to his teacher, and on my way out, he handed me a homemade Christmas card that was addressed to both me and my clerk. On the outside of the envelope, in addition to our names, he had written in yellow highlighter, "Thank you for all you do." Inside, the card read, "Thank you for helping me in the library."

Now, we assist this young man all the time on his almost daily visits to the library, helping him find good books that we think he will enjoy. We do that for ALL of our students. But Josh has always been quiet about his reactions to our help, so his simple card with that heartfelt note of gratitude was right up there with one the best Christmas gifts that either of us--my clerk or myself--have ever received.

My second "special gift" was delivered by a kindergartener and her mother. School hadn't even convened when they entered the library Monday morning, and the 5-year-old walked up to me with a small Christmas gift bag filled with four chocolate chip cookies that she had helped her mom bake for her teachers. She handed me the gift bag with a big grin, and her mom said, "She said she wanted to bless her librarian." I gave the child a big hug and thanked her, feeling blessed indeed, knowing that it was not just chocolate chip cookies that she was delivering.

Louisa wrote:

My special gift wasn't a physical object, but verbal. It touched me to my heart.

I had a student who cut my class (and others) constantly. I reported him, called his mother, tracked him down, and did my best to get him to be in my room when scheduled. When he did show up, he did little that I assigned, but he asked intelligent questions and showed an alert and sharp mind. He also spent a lot of time distracting other students. I found dealing with him frustrating and stressful, but I felt there was much good and real potential there.

He left rather abruptly in the middle of the year when his mother decided she could no longer cope and sent him off to live with his dad in another state. I felt that I'd not accomplished much, if anything, in the time I had.

The following year near Christmas, he saw me in a local mall. I heard my name being called and turned to see him hurrying toward me with a big grin on his face. We chatted and caught up with each other’s lives a bit, then he suddenly turned somber and said, "You know, the teachers at the school near my dad's don't care about me like you did."

I asked what he meant. He told me that the teachers at his new school didn't take note when he cut class. With a sad face and voice, he told me that he spent most class time in the library and no one came to look for him. "They just don't care about me," he said.

This happened years ago, but I've never forgotten that the ones who kick and avoid us most vigorously are often the students who are testing to see if we care. They may say they hate tough love, but they treasure it.

Abey wrote:

Thanks so very much to all of you for your very special stories. I can't tell you just how much I've enjoyed each one! I've added one from my early years. I apologize for the length, but it is a story that needed the detail. It's about my first year as a K-3 Teacher.

This is my 35th year of teaching. It’s been my pleasure to teach all ages (5 to adult), ability levels, and personality types. I still enjoy the wonders and surprises of teaching. There are many thrills we experience from teaching our students, but few top the thrill of hearing a child read independently for the very first time.

Early in my career I decided to add the K-3 certification to my teaching license. The very next year I was given a position teaching third grade in a small rural school. I was also blessed with working with a teacher assistant -- Joyce Edwards -- one of finest human beings it’s ever been my privilege to know. Our class of 27 students included two students whose school successes had been few. I’ll call them Bobby and Henry.

Henry and Bobby, one black male and one white male, were best friends. They began kindergarten together and for a multitude of reasons just did not progress. They repeated kindergarten, first grade and second grade. Joyce and I were determined they were going to become independent readers during their year with us.

We did all sorts of diagnostics. We discovered what we needed to know and developed a reading plan for both boys. We worked to build their word analysis skills, increase vocabulary and fluency, and inspire them to become independent readers. I used literature tailor-made to interest them. They became fascinated with Aesop’s Fables, the Grimm Brothers, international fairy tales, Mother Goose, and poetry of all kinds! Their progress was slow but steady. They loved when we were able to do sound-effects and voice-overs with the stories.

As Christmas drew nearer, Joyce and I marveled at their progress. Their friendship bond delighted both of us. Whatever we asked them to try they did willingly, as long as they could try together. As we busied ourselves getting our room decorated for the holiday, little did I know that Joyce, Bobby and Henry were putting together a holiday treat of their own.

Secretly, they were rewriting one of their favorite stories into a play and creating paper bag puppets of the main characters. Joyce had secured a refrigerator box for them, and like little elves they were busily cutting, painting, and transforming that ordinary cardboard box into a magnificent puppet stage.

On the day of their special surprise, my principal, who was in on the secret, called me to a meeting in his office. He kept me busy and unsuspicious while Joyce, Bobby, Henry and the whole class readied the stage and the props.

When everything was ready, Joyce sent a colleague to get me. She said, “You need to come down to your room,” in a tone of voice meant to suggest trouble. Joyce, who had a delightfully wicked sense of humor, arranged this just to keep me guessing. I rushed back down to my room with my principal in tow. As I entered the room and listened to the whole class yell “SURPRISE!” I looked over at Joyce and all she could do was laugh and wave because she was already fighting back the tears. I saw the movable wall had been folded back to reveal a a magnificent puppet stage, one very comfy-looking upholstered chair, one side table on which sat a bowl of popcorn, my favorite soft drink, a box of tissues, and two giggling boys. They ran to my side, escorted me to my comfy chair, handed me my Coke and placed two tissues in my other hand (I was already tearing up, and Joyce was no help!).

In a flash they disappeared into the refrigerator box/puppet stage, turned on the microphones, and stood up to announce… “Ms. Abey, welcome to our show, The Three Billy Goats Gruff. We wrote this just for you! Merry Christmas! Sit back, relax, sip on your Coke, and enjoy the performance!”

Flawlessly, our two playwrights acted their parts. “Who’s that tripping over my bridge?” came from Bobby the Troll, with a well-practiced roar I had not a clue he had in him. “Oh no, don’t take me!” came from Henry in the voice of the second Billy Goat, with a well-rehearsed cunning tone that brought a laugh to my tear-washed face. I listened, laughed, cried, sipped my soda and tried to eat some popcorn until -- “Snip, snap, snout; this tale’s told out!”

Needless to say, I managed a standing ovation and hugs all around. Joyce was strutting like a proud grandma, which she was to the children, and the rest of my class was yelling “Encore, Encore!" In my thirty-five years of teaching I have had many special gifts and memorable moments. But the honor I received on that December day was about the most perfect gift any teacher could receive.

After Christmas we added more stories and interesting characters. There were folk heroes, knights, and heroines galore. The boys were ablaze with reading fervor. This story has more happy endings. Both boys left third grade knowing how to read independently. They graduated from high school, got good jobs, married and had families. It almost sounds like one of the fairy tales they loved. But it’s the true story of two boys who never gave up on each other or their teachers.

I still have those puppets. They have moved with me nine times and each time my helpers have said, “Are you sure you want to keep these tattered things?” And each time I have smiled and answered, “Absolutely!”

Carolann, an elementary teacher, wrote:

My special gift was given to me this week. It was the gift of renewal. Tuesday my husband and I celebrated 25 years of marriage, and he surprised me at my school with a special ceremony to renew our wedding vows.

I work at a historic institution, and my office is located in a 150-year old building that served as a Civil War hospital just prior to opening as a women’s college. Adjacent to my office is an old chapel. At five o’clock Tuesday, as I was finishing up some paperwork, my assistant called me into the chapel where my husband and our pastor were waiting. There, among a few family members and friends, we renewed our vows. After the ceremony, I was led down the grand staircase to a horse drawn carriage. The carriage driver took us through town to a Christmas tree located on our state capital grounds. Under the huge lit tree was a gift, an anniversary ring.

But the special gift I am referring to is not the ring, the surprise ceremony, or the carriage ride. The gift was the time and thought my husband put into making our anniversary special. For 25 years my husband has loved a teacher. He has endured years of helping me cut out turkeys at Thanksgiving. He has hauled tubs of “stuff” from location to location as I have changed classrooms and moved from school to school. He has waited patiently in stores and hauled home those little treasures for my students that I find while shopping.

He has saved soda tabs, margarine tubs, tissue boxes, and many other things I needed for projects for my students. He has eaten tons of fast food because I had PTA meetings to attend or because I brought home Santa-sized bags of papers to grade. He has dug huge holes to help me put frog ponds on my school campus and helped plant butterflies gardens for my students to have outdoor classrooms. He has put me on many planes and spent many weekends alone as I attend educational conferences. I could go on and on, but you as teachers understand what it takes to be married to a teacher.

My special gift is being married, again, to my best friend.

Cossondra wrote:

Thank you all for the beautiful gift of your stories.

My own favorite gift: Through the years of candles and candle snuffers, cards and home-baked goodies, the one gift I remember and cherish the most was a card Lauren gave me the year I taught 8th grade history.

On the cover of the card is a strange woman flying horizontally across the page, holding onto a pole. The inscription reads: "If you hold onto the handle, she said, it's easier to maintain the illusion of control. But it's more fun if you just let the wind carry you."

Inside, Lauren's own scrawled inscription says: "This is like your teaching. You not only taught the kids about American History but also you taught them about how to find who they are & what they want to become & do in the amazing world around us, helping & coxing them to do their best but 'let go' & 'let the wind carry' them to where their place in life is. You’re a wonderful teacher. Thank you! I had a wonderful time in your class. Love, Lauren”

This card hangs on my bulletin board by my desk, though Lauren has long since grown up, graduated from high school, and is off to college. In her own words, she captured the essence of the teacher I hoped I was. And to this day, it inspires me when another messy project is underway, when it would be easier to show a movie than teach, and when I look into their inquisitive faces and wonder if I really do make a difference.

Karen wrote:

One of the most amazing days in my educational career was the day I found out I was runner-up for Teacher of the Year. Many believe that second place is the first loser. But in one short hour, I learned that would never be my philosophy.

I had received the decision of the state selection committee from my principal, who was aware that the Teacher of the Year receives a visit from the state superintendent of public instruction and a big celebration is held. Without my knowledge, my principal organized some of my students. I was invited to the auditorium for what I thought would be a convocation on drug use. Surprise!

I was escorted onto the stage where my husband and two children were already seated. It was then that I received the most amazing gift. It was not the recognition of the honor, but the opportunity to watch my students entertain the rest of the student body with the most amusing and amazingly accurate reenactment of activities from my classroom. A young man was dressed as me, including what was then a trademark scarf headband. He perfectly rendered every physical gesture and quirk that I possess. The students had the details down, and their audience and their teacher were in stitches.

Their skit ended with an announcement to the school about the honor. Through the tears of laughter came tears of gratitude as I realized how deeply I had touched them and how much they had touched me in return. I almost felt sorry for the Teacher of the Year, with his very official celebration, and I knew I would never apologize for being second again.

Mary, a high school teacher, wrote:

This fall I attended a women's club meeting at the home of a friend, whose son I had worked with two years earlier. When I saw Joey walk through the room, I thought, "Oh, my gosh. I never put it together that Joey was Lisa's son." After the meeting, I asked her if Joey would come up from the basement so I could say hello. He gave me a big hug and filled me in on "the boys."

Lisa was surprised because she didn't realize I had taught Joey. Well, I hadn't, really. But let me tell you about "the boys."

Two years before, I had a journalism class with one student. The principal still wanted to publish a school paper, so I suggested that he let me help a colleague who had a big unruly class. "Let me have some of the kids two days a week, and I will teach them how to write news and they can write for the paper."

He agreed, and I inherited "the boys," a notorious group of students with IEP's and other challenges. They were known far and wide for their loud, rambunctious ways. It was a crazy year but we managed to continue to put out the paper, and the boys were regularly published. All their hard work was rewarded when the paper received a first place ranking in our state competition. I made sure they were invited back to the school board post-graduation to get their certificates on television. Not one of them missed that night.

I was gratified by their dedication. One boy never failed to follow up on his assignments even though he had a severe language disability. He worked diligently on his stories until he had them perfect. I still remember sitting beside him and showing him how to punctuate his quotes. After one brief lesson, he sat at the computer until he had every quotation mark and comma in place. One day he was absent but showed up after school to pick up the camera. When I said I was surprised to see him he patiently reminded me that "I have a newspaper assignment to complete."

I received many gifts from working with those guys, but my favorite came after that meeting at Joey’s home. Lisa told me that every time an issue of the student paper came out, the boys would gather at her house and read it over and over. She told me they kept looking at their stories, turning the pages of the product they’d created, and telling each other in confident voices: "See, we're not dumb."