I was cleaning up one morning and found a book I'd received when I was a little girl. It's called "The Story of Ping" by Marjorie Flack. Written in 1933, it's about a little duck who lived with his family on a boat on the Yangtze River. I realized, as I flipped through it, that the book had survived my childhood and my daughter's. There are doodles and scribbles on the inside cover, but otherwise, the book is in pretty good shape. It brought back very happy memories, and also made me realize that my love of reading, Art, and music, and the combination of them all, started earlier than I thought.
I've gotten messages on social networking sites from adults whose faces bear striking resemblances to the little people who used to color, paint, paste and cut up paper in my Art classes. "Miss Williams, I remember when you used to sing to us in class, and read Dr. Seuss stories!"...I guess I did. I guess I must have done it more than I remembered! lol...It's probably because MY teachers sang to me, and read happy, exciting stories that I adopted the practice with my students, too. It's DEFINITELY why I know Dr. Seuss' wonderful story, "I Had Trouble In getting to Solla Sollew" by heart.
My elementary school teachers, especially Mrs. Leona Williams, Mrs, Vivian Thompson and Mrs. Flora Bertman, loved art, music, and words. They encouraged us to love them as well. Miss Lenore Hall made us cut out and keep every single article in the newspaper that highlighted the positive achievement of Black people- famous or otherwise. I still have my scrapbook of "They Had A Dream" biographies/illustrations (by George Reasons and Sam Patrick) that used to appear in the old Washington Star's "Weekender" magazine. I still remember Mrs. Swinton's lesson on simple machines--mainly because of her animated delivery and the illustrations she used. Mrs. Sally Letterlough was tall and poised, had a big afro, and wore colors people said Black folks weren't supposed to be able to get away with. Mrs. Letterlough was our own "Ebony Fashion Fair". When she spoke or read it was like listening to royalty, and she was a stickler for being articulate and speaking with confidence.
Mrs. Elizabeth Stansberry was from Louisiana, looked like Alicia Keys, and her accent brought a whole new flavor to Reading and books. Her philosophy was, "Don't just read the story- write about it; make your own pictures, and you'll never forget it."
Mrs. Vivian Thompson was my First Grade teacher. (Come to think of it, she bore a resemblance to the late actress who portrayed Malcolm Jamaal Warner's girlfriend "Justine" on the Cosby Show. (I know. Me and TV.) Mrs. Thompson wasn't much taller than we were. She was beautiful, and had the best voice- except when she was yelling- which didn't have to happen much back then, (before EVERY disciplinary act was corporal punishment, and "Child Protective Services" was the first phrase a kid committed to memory prior to learning how to spell his or her name). Mrs. Thompson's voice wasn't designed for yelling, but it was perfect for reading a good story (and we knew how to pronounce and spell "Yangtze" and a lot of other higher level vocabulary words when she was done. I think she's in Atlanta now. I'd love to see her again.)
Our librarian at Abram Simon Elementary school, Mrs. Reamer, would read to us often. She introduced us to Mercer Mayer, P.D. Eastman, Ezra Jack Keats, Eric Carle, and Maurice Sendak. We'd sit in semi-circle formation on the rug. The library was on the third floor and it seemed like an adventure to travel there.
The Washington Highlands Library, on Atlantic Street, was a friend to the school, and a safe place to walk to on weekends, or when school wasn't in session.
I guess because my Mom was a teacher, it was no accident that books were a part of my life, but it was wonderful that my teachers loved books, and hearing a good story, too. I remember my teachers changing their voices, making up accents, and singing and using whatever methods they could to make our reading experiences not only learning opportunities, but fun times. It was even fun to get the Scholastic Book Club forms, and order paperback books. It seemed like every teacher I had was a cheerleader for Scholastic--and Reading proficiency.
Mrs. Bertman, who passed away some years ago, was a little lady who taught 6th grade at St. Thomas More Catholic School. She reminds me now of Mollie Sugden's character "Mrs. Slocumb" on "Are You Being Served" and had a voice like a calm Edith Bunker. Her articulate speech, cat eyeglasses, and different bouffant hairpiece each day added to the wonder that was Mrs. Bertman. She'd rush into the classroom and scream words like "Flabbergasted!" or "Lapis Lazuli!" or "Aurora Borealis!" We'd look at her in amazement, and then she'd remind us that it didn't matter who we were, or where we came from-- vocabulary was important, and being able to read well, comprehend, and converse with anyone, anywhere, anytime, on any level was key to our success. She was my very first Caucasian classroom teacher. Even at such a young age, I knew race didn't matter in her class. She was on a mission to dispel a few myths and made no apologies. She wasn't fake or condescending. She hated hearing from friends and colleagues that Black children couldn't excel, and she told us so. Her weekly spelling bees were so much fun. She made sure we all knew how to spell AND use all of her wacky words in sentences. We soon realized she wasn't making them up--they were in the dictionary and a part of the language we spoke.
My "Ping" book is losing its spine, but still making me smile. It's funny how one little story can spark so many memories; remind you of ideas and goals you'd forgotten or pushed aside. I had a long talk with a good friend just to put a plan in the atmosphere, and be accountable if I don't follow through...
Funny how a little book about a duck can remind me that I should never be so preoccupied with anything that I can't hear God's voice; that being bound prevents me from enjoying what God has for me, and leaves me at the mercy of entities that are not concerned with my best interest; that in the wrong hands my purpose can be sorely abused; that redemption can come from the most unlikely places, and answers and deliverance can come when I least suspect them; and that correction at the hands of God is the best bet.....oh...and that I don't have to wait for spring to do a little spring cleaning...
Try it and see what you find...
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