Three Goshen College students' 'A Teacher's Moment' essays air April 14-28

GOSHEN, Ind. – The public radio station in Elkhart, Ind., WVPE-88.1 FM, has selected essays by three Goshen College students to air the Tuesdays between April 14-28 about "A Teacher's Moment." All of the pieces are scheduled to air at 7:35 a.m. and again at 12:30 p.m.

The three students wrote their essays for a class taught by Goshen College Professor of Communication Duane Stoltzfus, who encouraged students to submit their work for broadcast. Their assignment was to tell a story about a teacher who had made a significant impact on their life.

"It is a note of gratitude," said Stoltzfus. "So often we neglect to say thanks to those people who have made a difference in our lives; in the case of teachers, that failure often stems from not knowing what we owe a person until many years later."

On Tuesday, April 14, Julie Weirich shared her essay about her high school English teacher, Mrs. Graber. Weirich is a sophomore communication major from Goshen.

» Audio:  

On Tuesday, April 21, Paul Boers will share his essay about his kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Arnold. Boers is a senior communication major from Elkhart, Ind.

» Audio:  

And on Tuesday, April 28, Hannah Groff will share her essay about her fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Miller. Groff is a junior Spanish and interdisciplinary double major from East Earl, Pa.

» Audio:  

Editors: For more information about this release, to arrange an interview or request a photo, contact Goshen College News Bureau Director Jodi H. Beyeler at (574) 535-7572 or jodihb@goshen.edu.

### 

Goshen College, established in 1894, is a residential Christian liberal arts college rooted in the Anabaptist-Mennonite tradition. The college's Christ-centered core values – passionate learning, global citizenship, compassionate peacemaking and servant-leadership – prepare students as leaders for the church and world. Recognized for its unique Study-Service Term program, Goshen has earned citations of excellence in Barron's Best Buys in Education, "Colleges of Distinction," "Making a Difference College Guide" and U.S.News & World Report's "America's Best Colleges" edition, which named Goshen a "least debt college." Visit www.goshen.edu.

A Teacher's Moment: Grabes

By Julie Weirich, a sophomore communication major from Goshen

She was only 5-foot-4 but I heard her voice booming across the soccer field, "Run, Jules, run faster!" As if I wasn't already running full speed. Students who didn't know her often found her intimidating because of her brutal honesty. "This paper is no good -- start over," she once said in class. But, for me, Marilyn Graber quickly became "Graber" and my mother away from home, a Goshen teacher who shaped my life.

We first met when I was in fourth grade. Her husband, Pete, was my soccer coach that fall and would be for the next six years. In high school Graber was my English teacher and newspaper advisor. By the end of our time together people around us knew we had an undeniable bond. I often called her Grabes and on a good day I could slip in the nickname of "Grabe-dog." She had a tendency to say ridiculous things, famously quoted by students: "Get the final one and staple it to me!" or "Would you shut up that door?" But her confidence was never shaken. Her ability to laugh at herself pushed me to embrace who I was.

When it came to deciding on a college, Graber encouraged me to go to the place I felt I would do the best. I remember one afternoon in class I found myself behind her desk, upset about my college search. She stopped what she was doing and swirled her chair around. Looking intently in my eyes she told me to do whatever I needed to do. "Try new things," she said. "And, most importantly, enjoy your independence before real life starts." Her words rang true, as if she had spoken what my heart had been feeling for months. Finally, someone had given me permission to be young.

Our relationship wasn't perfect; we certainly had our conflicts, but we respected each other. We spent hours poring over my writing in the library after school. "This needs to be better; I know you can make it better," she said. I never doubted her advice and she always seemed to have more faith in me than I did in myself. While at times I thought she made outlandish requests, I needed someone to push me. One month Graber decided we should do a 12-page newspaper issue instead of our regular eight-pager even though two page editors were sick. Three late nights and three takeouts from El Camino later, Graber and I pulled the issue off.

One day in class she told me, "If you're going to be a writer, you have to develop some thick skin." She was honest and told me when my writing was poor, but she always backed it up with a positive comment and told me to try again. Graber's dedication to her job, relationships with her students and humor was always an inspiration. She was loving and caring yet stern, like my own mother.  She was my go-to teacher, my role model, my moral support, my cheerleader in life.

A Teacher's Moment: Mrs. Arnold

Paul Boers, a senior communication major from Elkhart, Ind.

My parents thought I wouldn't learn in Mrs. Arnold's kindergarten class. They were wrong.

I was a hotshot 5-year-old. I could write my name at 2 and read at 4. I remember learning the five senses and the different kinds of taste buds in my southern Ontario preschool.

Since I already had these skills under my elastic waistband, my parents figured I would be bored and asked the school administrators to skip me straight to first grade.

The school refused, saying that intellectual ability doesn't trump development. So, in the fall of 1992, I walked into Mrs. Arnold's class for the first time.

If I have ever heard her first name, I have promptly forgotten it. Mrs. Arnold will always be just that. She was a sweet woman who could make children quiet down by resting her hand on their heads. She encouraged my painting even when day after day I did nothing more than let colors drip down the canvas, mingling into brown puddles in the trough of the easel. I can only picture her wearing a smile and a thick red wool sweater.

I last saw her when I was 13. I was walking past the school yard where I had played as a kindergartener. She was outside, supervising yet another group of youngsters. Despite the elapsed time and the many kindergarteners she had taught, she still recognized me.

It was in Mrs. Arnold's class that I hit my peak popularity. The other 5-year-olds came to me to arbitrate reading disagreements and liked me for my ability to memorize punny knock-knock jokes. (Orange you glad I didn't include one here?)

My peers and I soon met John, the school's janitor. Unlike Mrs. Arnold, we only knew his first name – a sure sign that he occupied a different role in the school. We must have noticed that he had less authority than the teachers or principal because, spurred by our group mentality and love for toilet humor, we started calling the janitor "Poopy John" and "John Poo-pants."

John never responded in any way, except to remind us not to drag our feet when we walked; we were leaving black scuffs on the floor.

It was Mrs. Arnold who stepped in and talked to us. Her speech wasn't eloquent or complex.  Thank goodness – it would have gone over our bowl-cut heads. She merely reminded us that John was a person like us and probably didn't like being called names.

For me, it was an epiphany. In a few words Mrs. Arnold taught me that everyone deserves to be treated with compassion and respect. It was my introduction to empathy.

I don't call anyone "Poo-pants" anymore. As a 22-year-old, I've moved on to more sophisticated insults. Every now and then, though, I stop and remember Mrs. Arnold. I can almost feel her hand on my head, reminding me to be kind.

I scuff my feet slightly as I continue on my way.

A Teacher's Moment: Mrs. Miller

Hannah Groff, a junior Spanish and interdisciplinary double major from East Earl, Pa.

She smelled slightly of cigarette smoke, but that never bothered me. Mrs. Miller was a rougher type of fifth grade teacher, not as blonde or perky as the two other teachers in my small Pennsylvania public school in 1999, but it didn't matter. She was brutally honest, had a wry sense of humor and never let us forget that life was about hard work and dedication.

Mrs. Miller was intimidating but her smile for me and the joking way she spoke made me feel special, as though I was one of her favorites. (I think I was). Not everyone was happy to have her for a teacher but after all my years of schooling, as I look back, she's still one of my favorites.

In the spring of that year we put on a play, involving the entire class. I ended up playing one of the main roles, Mrs. Filthyrich, a wealthy, bossy, snobby woman. After weeks of practicing a snide voice and a high and mighty attitude I thrived in the role. I was ready to show the world my acting abilities.

When we performed I put my little nose up in the air, wore a fancy Goodwill dress and spoke in my snottiest voice. The entire cast did great and standing up on stage at the end I felt a power and adrenaline that I had never known before. Suddenly I loved acting!

At the end of the final performance Mrs. Miller gave me a small, handwritten card, one I still have today. It reads, "Hannah, you are so talented and such a special girl. Your warmth and kind attitude make you a joy to be around. I know you have a great life ahead of you, whatever you decide to do. If you do become an actress, as I hope you will, I look forward to one day seeing your name in lights and saying, 'That Hannah, I knew her once!'"

While I never pursued an acting career, Mrs. Miller's encouragement and extra attention is something that has had a lasting effect. She helped me believe that I would go on to be somebody, and that meant a lot, coming from someone outside my family. She never sugarcoated anything so when I did get that affirmation from her, I knew she meant it.

We learned that our class was the last that Mrs. Miller taught, that she retired the following year. Now I wonder what she's doing; maybe still living in a house in the wooded hills of East Earl, Pa. Maybe she sits on her porch and smokes, and I hope, misses teaching little girls like me, with stars in their eyes and large dreams resting on their small shoulders – teaching us that we can become whatever we work for and want, someone who matters.