I found out late last night that my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Stringfield had passed away over a month ago and no one told me.
I called home today in the middle of the day. My sister, Lori, answered the phone. I asked her if she knew about Mrs. Stringfield, also one of her former teachers, and she admitted that she did.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I asked annoyed as always that my family doesn’t tell me things I would like to know (yet tells me other things I really don’t need to worry about).
“Well, because you’re over there,” she replied listlessly.
I didn’t tell her that I felt rather sad when I got the Google update featuring something about my hometown of Hacienda Heights. I don’t live too far from HH now, but for some reason news about former teachers and other people I grew up with just doesn’t get to me. I guess it slips my mom’s mind or they don’t want to worry me. Still, I think they would have told me about Mrs. Stringfield. They told me when she fell and broke her hip, but that was probably because my mom still worked at the school.
I did very well at Glenelder Elementary School. I never intended to be the teacher’s pet, but somehow I frequently wound up being a favorite. I had all woman teachers and Mrs. Stringfield sticks out because she was not nearly as mean or scary as Ms. Butcher (eek, even her name scared me) nor as austere as Mrs. Miller. She really was a kind woman, but she sticks out more for her longevity. She was the oldest white woman I had ever met at 10 years old. The paper says she passed away at 75 years old which means that she was only about 60 when she was teaching me and my brother. Even then she seemed ancient.
I don’t know if it was Mrs. Stringfield or Mrs. Miller that recommended I be tested for the Gifted and Talented Education (GATE) program. Either way, I know that I would not have been in GATE without Mrs. Stringfield. She was a good teacher and all I gained in that class manifested itself in some way through random bubbles on a Scantron. I scored high on the state assessment tests. In hindsight, I know that the test scores and good grades helped Mrs. Stringfield (or Mrs. Miller?) decide that I was a child whose talents should be nurtured.
I was admitted to GATE. Each Friday morning I would leave my school on a bus with a handful of other kids to go to Dibble School where other students around the Hacienda La Puente Unified School District would gather for enriched courses in things like Shakespeare, art, and investing in stocks. Once I graduated from Glenelder and went on to middle school and high school, GATE students were tracked into honors and advanced placement (AP) courses. These courses prepared me very well to be ready for postsecondary education.
Mrs. Stringfield was instrumental in tracking me and recognizing potential. There were definitely other teachers along the way and even before, but I didn’t even know I was gifted or talented until 4th grade. Although tracking can be very problematic, it essentially worked very well for me.
Thanks, Mrs. Stringfield. May you rest in peace.
Even if you found out a month later, it’s cool that you keep a tab on the past. And even cooler that you remember them on here. Who knows, maybe 30 years down the road one of her kids or grandkids will stumble on this. I have absolutely no idea what has happened to any of my teachers. Especially from elementary school. Come to think of it, I don’t even remember where I went to elementary school.
I love the way families love to tell you things that one shouldn’t worry about, while omitting the important things. I can so relate, Cindy. It sucks that she passed away, but you strike me as the type of person who does remember the people that made a difference in your life. For me a lot of them are teachers, a few friends, and familia. Definately, may she rest in peace.
Seriously, I echo Oso, someone related to her should read this! I wonder if @ the end, many of her students were there. My husband’s grandmother was a teacher all her life, @ the cementery where she was about to be buried, the most touching words were said by one of her former students…. the current mayor of the town!
Oso,
It’s really hard to forget where I went to elementary school since the school is just a three minute walk from my house. Also, having two younger siblings start school about 4 or 5 years after me kept me connected to the school. Finally, my mom worked there as a teacher’s aid for autistic children so there was no escaping Glenelder Elementary.
It’s also a nice place to play catch or on the swings.
EMC,
I actually used to joke that they would only tell me the bad news and never the good. Seems like they just forget about the good news too.
I can actually remember all of my grade school teachers, but only a handful stick out from high school and middle school. I feel like I had more than my share of good teachers.
Frances,
I think some of her former students were at the memorial service that the school held for her a few days ago.
It’s crazy you think that teachers don’t remember their students, especially after the years pass..but many don’t forget. I remember when I was student-teaching…one of the teachers gave me a hug and asking me how I had been all this time..(I’m thinking oK crazy lady get a hold of yourself)..it turns out that she was one of my brother’s old teachers from elementary (2nd grade) and she was confusing me with him but still. It just shows how much of a bond is created between teacher an student. Many times it seems like and feels like family. Don’t be blue Cindylu, you will always have the happy memories!
I now teach at the same elementaty school I attended (1979-1986) and many of my colleagues remember when I was a child. Many call me “m’ijo” DURING STAFF MEETINGS. Sounds cool and sweet, right? But the novelty has worn thin and now, because of various educratic issues, I think some of them might even dislike me. The student has become the teacher, indeed… I’m also the GATE coordinator for my school and am feeling this story. I hope a kid we get bused out of this lower-income school and onto the fast-track of middle and upper-middle class education where they can learn how to “act white” and hopefully break the cycle of ignorance and mediocrity and go to college someday will remember his or her teachers as fondly as you remember Miss Stringfield.
PEACE
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