How much would we have to pay you annually to teach first grade?
I asked 10 people, and the average was, give or take, $7 million.
Here is a short list of Really Hard Jobs off the top of my head and without giving it much thought:
•Snake charmer guy
•Explosive ordnance disposal guy
•Cleaning up Bourbon Street after any holiday guy
•Stone carrier guy, pyramid construction, circa 2610 BC
•Great Raft Removal guy (and thank you, Captain Henry Miller Shreve and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers)
•Chiseler for any of the presidents on Mt. Rushmore guy
•Magazine publication guy*
Hot water, every single one. But mere child’s play compared to the lonely plight of the first-grade teacher. The teachers whose attendance rolls we are not worthy of touching have just begun a year’s worth of doing daily what all the jobs above require— combined.
Each working day of the first-grade teacher’s life is filled with challenges, all of them weighing between 35 and 50 pounds, most of them with attention spans to match their bladder sizes, each with a mind of her or his own, none of them able to read. It’s not a job for the faint of heart. This is Big-Person Work.
It has been my privilege to watch some of the finest in the fieldwork, and it’s like watching the talent that gets standing ovations in cathedrals, ballparks, and music halls the world over. How do they do it? The answer remains a mystery to the ordinary layman like me, sitting here with humble hat in humble hand.
Mine is Bobbie Cook, “Mrs. Bobbie,” 96 and retired for 35 years back home in South Carolina, retired for the same number of years she taught, 30 of those in first grade. She had to take three years
off in her 50s to take cancer out behind the barn, then came back and duked it out with us short people for another half-dozen years. Tough as a 10-cent steak.
Not gonna lie, I was the loser who cried the first day of school. Wanted to ride my bike and spend the day with my collie dog, Sport, and my mother, same as always. Total no-hoper.
Except … Mrs. Bobbie. She tucked her cape into the back of her skirt, handed me a crayon, smiled, and smelled like either roses or really fresh soap. Suddenly, the chalkboard and The Other Kids and the smell of yeast rolls from down the hall weren’t so bad after all. We leaped from a rocky start to smooth sailing.
Mrs. Bobbie was the difference that made the difference for me.
Mrs. Bobbie and her brothers and sisters are Out There, helping tomorrow’s accountants and mayors and construction workers and future teachers, doing more than their fair share. Hopefully, they can trust us to do ours when school’s not in session.
“I’ll tell you what teaching does and has done for me all these years,” Mrs. Bobbie told me during one of our grownup visits years ago. “It makes me believe the Bible where it says we all must become like little children to be accepted into heaven. I’ve seen that in the trust, believing, the blind faith first-graders have in their teachers. They always renewed my faith in mankind with their little trusting.”
If you get a good one, if you luck into a Mrs. Bobbie — well, good teachers renew OUR faith in mankind. The best ones are in the ring to make a difference, planting trees they might never see come up, sowing seeds to benefit every one of us. First things first: we should thank them every chance we get.
