An Open Letter to Mr. Bouchard

I FOUND HIM!

I FOUND MR. BOUCHARD!!!

Let me begin by saying that there are certain names that just seem to feel tasty on my tongue. Philip Bouchard is one of them. I think even way back when I was nine, I enjoyed the way Bouchard (Boo-shard) sounded.

I can think of a few other names like it. When I did my service corps work in the Philippines, I worked with a Salvation Army officer named "Raven Salegumba" (pronounced Ray-ven Sal-eh-goom-ba). That is another name that just sounds elegant and full of character. Her daughter's name was "Charis" (Car-iss), a shortened version of charity. There was a beautiful young Filipino girl named "Leah Nanlabi" (pronounced Lay-uh Non-lob-bee), whom I adored.

It is hard to know whether these names evoke strong affection because the names are beautiful, or because the people themselves are as beautiful as their given name. Somehow, when you pair a significant person with a distinctive name, the combination produces a completed image in your mind.

For me, Mr. Philip Bouchard, my fourth grade teacher, was a significant person with a wonderfully distinctive name, full of flair. He graciously acknowledged my enquiry and provided information for contacting him personally. However, I've been thinking that what I wanted to say to Mr. Bouchard, after all these years, is really something that could and should be shared openly. It seems there is something to be learned from my experience with Mr. Bouchard. Thus, I am writing my open letter here.

Dear Mr. Bouchard:

What a privilege it is for me to open my heart and share with you something of what you meant to me all those years ago when I was a nine year old girl. As a teacher myself, I know that the work often doesn't reveal the results immediately. You labor on, hoping that something you are doing or saying is making a difference in the lives of your students. Much of the time, you just don't get to see where it all leads.

I have many wonderful memories of my fourth grade year. I'm pretty sure it was the first year that I thoroughly enjoyed and looked forward to school. I remember how special it felt to have an individual meeting, every week, with the teacher, one-on-one. I remember wanting to impress you and work as hard as I could.

I remember an experiment you did with a bunsen burner (or perhaps it was just a hot plate). I have vague memories of someone taking apart a transistor radio to see how it worked. It also seems there was some convoluted idea about making a refrigerator out of a cardboard box. (I have a feeling we discovered that the concept wouldn't work!)

I also remember Story Starters. This was probably my favorite thing, since I have always been very fond of writing. You would give us the first paragraph or introduction and we were supposed to come up with a story from those first sparks.

I remember standing by you at your desk, while we manipulated bottle caps to understand the concept of multiplication. Of course, my adult brain is saying "Yes, but when I worked at my son's elementary school, the kids were expected to master the multiplication tables in 3rd grade." Still, it was one of those "aha experiences" where a light bulb goes off in your head and something really makes sense for the first time.

I also remember hanging our book reports for display on the wall outside of our classroom. I remember recess on the playground, chasing the boys (that seemed to be our favorite game) and trying to play some crazy levitation game.

I remember a particular bully in our class, an intense, physical kind of boy whose name seems to be Billy, but I'm not positive on that. My family returned to Webster Groves for a visit a few years later and a neighbor informed us that Billy had been struck by lightening while holding some sort of metal rod during a storm. I felt horrible for having such conflicted thoughts about that boy, once I learned that he had died young. It was as if, in my childish mind, I had contributed to his final outcome because I had thought ill of him.

Sadly, this wasn't my first experience with premature death. I believe it was during the summer between my third and fourth grade years, that my friend Janet lost her battle with cancer. I was a sensitive individual and I am sure that your compassion as a teacher, in those months following that experience, was crucial in my life.

There are so many things that I believe you excelled in as an educator. You put me in the driver seat and taught me the importance of taking responsibility for my education. Indeed, I think you taught me that the sky was the limit with regard to what I could learn if I set my mind to it.

It makes me think of that adage, "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime." You taught me how to learn on my own and it was one of the most valuable tools I could have gained.

The lesson must have truly sunk in, because I used these same ideas when I first began teaching high school English. I dreaded teaching the grammar section. Grammar, to me, is so dry and boring. Besides, I'm really not that good at articulating the rules and reasons for grammar. Most of my learning in that area has come from reading well-written books.

So, I took the Mr. Bouchard method and put the students in the driver's seat. I assigned them to groups and gave each group a chapter. The groups were responsible for teaching the class the lesson, complete with visual effects, a quiz and a game to test how well the class had mastered the concepts. Those students blew me away. I still have the video of their presentations and probably even have a majority of the games they turned in, as well.

Another thing you obviously excelled at (especially after looking at the comments I received from other teachers on my report cards) was nurturing the positive rather than the negative. I couldn't have been a perfect student, but I think I felt your approval all the time. How important that is for a young child!

It reminds me of the year I worked with Ms. McKee, in her third grade classroom. We had a student whose name was Tyrus. Ms. McKee informed me, early on, that her goal was for Tyrus to have at least one year in his schooling where he wasn't saddled with the impression that "Tyrus stands for Trouble." Even if nobody else was willing to let that label go, she was going to do her darnedest to banish the label from his third grade experience.

Trouble did, indeed, seem to sit on his shoulder and go with him, with or without his consent. For example, during that same year, I had some surgery on my largest toe on my right foot. For weeks, I had to sit with my foot propped up during class. On the very day, when the doctor finally removed the stitches, Tyrus somehow managed to step back in line and place all of his body weight hard on my healing toe. The pain was excruciating. I was in tears. Tyrus felt horrible. Poor Tyrus!

But, Tyrus did have a good year, because he had a teacher who was determined to make it a year where the trouble label was set aside. She remained positive and he thrived! I'm not sure all of his teachers took this same approach, but I can vouch for his third grade year, that he was nurtured and appreciated for his strengths (man, that boy could put together a bike from junk he found on the street) and it did a world of good (Ms. McKee and I both went to watch him perform in a musical at his church that year - those things have to leave an imprint, right?).

You also made learning fun. The learning itself was far from the drudgery of standard classroom fare (teacher at the front, students in line, rote drills and all that). It is such a horrible thing when learning fails to be presented as fun.

My first year as a teacher, I worked in a small rural high school that was struggling to stay afloat. Fighting the obvious pull to incorporate with the nearby larger high school, they decided to become a charter school with a modern educational coalition. They were going to encourage the teachers to be coaches rather than dictators in the classroom. They were going to prove mastery of concepts by requiring a final portfolio of work. They were going to "change the world of education." All fine goals, in theory.

I was the sole English teacher. I had every single high school student in the building. Imagine my horror when I was informed that the annual exhibition would require each of my students to turn in a research paper to go along with their group presentation. The groups were made up of multi-level students (freshmen to seniors) and each group selected a country to study. The goal was for each group to demonstrate the interdependence of the United States with their chosen country. Some of my freshman were required to write papers that I didn't even think I could write, things like "How is the science of Romania interdependent with the science of the United States?"

It was the most horrible scenario I have ever been forced to enact. Parents were upset. Students were in tears. All I kept thinking was, "these poor students will never grasp how fun it can be to write a research paper because their initial experience with this process is going to be one of frustration and failure."

Thankfully, I didn't walk away from teaching based on that one horrible year and the coalition experience. I'm hopeful that some of those students were also able to put that failed exercise behind them and discover that learning can and should be fun.

Mr. Bouchard, you were an outstanding teacher! You motivated me. You made a difference in my life that was, probably, the first step in a path towards a teaching career.

I sincerely hope that what you gave has come back to you a thousand fold. If not, at least you can recognize that you were greatly appreciated by one little nine year old girl, whom you managed to light a fire within. I'm guessing you can't even see the thousand fold results because those results are still rippling out.

It makes me think of my GED student, Deb Snow. When she came to my class she was greatly distressed because she had worked for over twenty years for a company and then been let go. She couldn't find a job and was convinced that she needed to now go back and earn the education she had failed to finish before.

We worked together for many weeks, studying the books and reviewing the skills for writing coherent essays. Deb passed her GED and went on to take business courses at the community college. She told me once that she had gained a whole different perspective through that GED class. She came in full of anger towards the wrong that had been done to her and she left realizing that losing her job was the best thing that could have happened because it forced her to take responsibility for what she wanted and to follow her dream of starting her own business.

You are part of that. Your contribution to me, led to the contribution I made in Deb Snow's life. And, I'm pretty sure Deb Snow is now making contributions in the lives of others. Isn't that the most wonderful thing imaginable??

God gifted you with a vision for nurturing small children, not just helping them learn, but teaching them how to acquire the learning for themselves. I'm so glad you didn't hold that gift in a bottle. You gave it freely and it continues to grow. I am forever grateful.

Sincerely,
Your former student,

Wendy