Have you ever brought an apple to school for your teacher?
In the United States May 4-8 mark the Teacher Appreciation Week. Traditionally children would bring an apple to school for their teachers. The origin of this tradition is rumored to have begun over a century ago, when students would bring their teachers apples and other foods as a supplement to their low income. Later the bringing of an apple to your teacher was a sign of appreciation, and nowadays children have become a lot more creative, with coffee mugs shaped like apples for example to uphold this tradition. Nevertheless the apple has become a common symbol of reading and education in the U.S.
Can you make out Latsha in the photo?
Growing up in different countries, I calculate that before graduating from High School, I must have had over thirty different teachers. Though the majority of them have over my 30 plus years become a blur, there are those significant teachers that impacted my life that will always stay in my memory. Even when we no longer remember exactly what they said or even what they looked like, what we remember is how they made us feel, and how they inspired or motivated us.
My teacher’s name was Mrs. Dixon. Although I didn’t always understand what she was saying, I remember she was kind and patient. She knew how to communicate with me through prompts and her tone, and she took the extra time and effort with me to learn proper pronunciation through repetition. I was a shy child, and Mrs. Dixon often would push me to my limits. As frustrating as it was for me, she often pretended to not know what I wanted until I opened my mouth to say it. She would applaud me if I said it right, or correct me if I said it wrong. This forced me to apply my knowledge and be more confident. During summer break before the following school year I did what kids do; I played with other kids, watched cartoons, flipped through picture books and went to the park or zoo with my family. The language barrier became a non-factor to me because I hadn’t noticed that the barrier had actually been broken. When the summer was over I sat in the first grade again for one week. I remember doing a happy dance with my mom after school when I brought her a letter informing her that I would be moved to a second grade class.
I went on to change schools seven more times before graduating High School; and if I were to thank all my teachers for what they had done for me, I would need an orchard. But I would have an especially shiny red apple for Mrs. Dixon.