Positive Reinforcement Lasts Forever

Today's post is simply a Thank You! A tribute to a very special teacher from my childhood who helped me so much more than she ever realized. 

Louise Anderson was my 6th grade English teacher. She worked very hard to let her students have fun and enjoy the material we covered; not always an easy task. I have to think part of this was because she was still a student herself. She was working on her Master's Degree in Childhood Education at the University of Southern Mississippi. When it came time to write our very first book report she went to great lengths to make sure the students had books that would appeal to them. There weren't assigned books to write on you see. She gave the guidelines of what the report should include and let us choose our own books. When I complained that the books we had in our little library didn't have enough information to write a 2 page report, she took me to the high school's library and let me pick from there. I got an A and she found a guinea pig! 

At this time she was working on her dissertation and needed a test subject. For the next couple of months I spent every Saturday morning with her. We would drive to U.S.M. and she'd administer some type of testing: vocabulary, reading and writing skills, spatial relations, all the stuff of standardized IQ testing. Not once did she ever indicate how I did other than a "Great job!" or some such comment. But, after each session we went out to eat and she would then give me $10 to buy something nice for myself, a "warm fuzzy" she'd call it. As you can imagine I was really disappointed when this came to an end!

But it really didn't end. True no one was paying me to take tests anymore but I was still attuned to that positive feedback and reinforcement. The special attention I had received made me feel more confident in myself. It made me want to work harder and do even better. And along the way I had also learned that there is no better place to escape to than into a well written book. 

Now I am not advocating giving money to kids to make them do better in school. It may or may not work for different kids or their families. However, a "warm fuzzy" doesn't have to be cash. For me it was also the feeling that someone really took notice and cared about  how I did in school. Parents are often too busy to do this but I do believe it makes a world of difference. 

The End of the Magical Musical Tour

Today I'm going even further back in my memories. This one goes back to my first "teen rebellion" attempts. Now I know that a John Denver song seems to be a weird choice for a rebellion song but I can explain. It wasn't the controversy about the "high" in Rocky Mountain High. It wasn't that I thought it meant getting high. I was a pretty sheltered kid in a tiny Baptist town in Mississippi and at this point in time, I didn't even know what "high" was!

No, it was something far more basic (and ridiculous now looking back). My father hated John Denver. He didn't like his voice, he criticized how he looked and dressed, simply put there was nothing good about John in his eyes. Sort of how earlier parents felt about the Beatles I guess. It didn't help matters that he and I were, umm, not close. We'll go with that. 

Mom on the other hand liked John Denver's simple music. We both enjoyed the acoustic guitar and John's gentle voice. Granted he wasn't the strongest singer to walk the earth, but you could feel his love for his music when he sang.

So, to the rebellion part. Mom bought me the album despite his complaints. My mom and I each had bedrooms across the hall from each other. Down the hall and down about 3 steps were my brother's bedroom and my father's room. Yes, there rooms were on opposite ends of the hall and opposite sides of the house. That's another story completely though. This layout meant that my bedroom shared a wall with my father's bedroom. Guess where I put my record player? That's right, right up against the shared wall. Whenever I was mad or annoyed by something he did, I locked my door and on went John Denver at the highest volume I dared. Glad my kids never tried this, I can just imagine all the ICP lyrics assaulting my ears! I can still hear his voice yelling to "turn that damn thing off" (always ignored) or complaining to Mom who would explain that I wasn't hurting anything. It was also the album I would escape into when they were fighting one of their frequent fights. I would turn it on, lean back comfortably on my bed, close my eyes and pretend that I too was enjoying a campfire in the Rockies.