My Mentor Retired

I learned to live and love teaching from the best mentor and veteran teacher on the planet. Since June 2011, when I missed the chance to honor her at her retirement party, questions have ping ponged in slow mo through my head: How do I share my gratitude and her talent? In a way that makes her feel honored? And so that she and the world understand what an impact she had on me?

After holding and releasing many ideas, including a letter to the president, a speech to be read to her family at dinner, and an interpretative dance, I’ve settled on my newly found platform of bliggity blogging. Why should the world (of my blog readers) be deprived of the opportunity to know and love Maureen Stonebarger like I do?

Let me set the stage. I was hired to be a first grade teacher at Linden Elementary with only a bachelor’s degree in educational studies- emphasizing family and community services. I figured out that I wanted to be in the elementary classroom a little too late and couldn’t fathom adding ANY semesters to my college career. So, being that California was desperate for teachers in 2001 (!) the rural school district of Linden Unified, in central California, hired me without credentials and gave me a choice of the grade I wanted to teach! Those in the profession today know that getting a job as a newly credentialed teacher is unlikely, much less being given a choice of grade levels. My, how times a change. So, in line with a pattern in my life I can see clearly now, I dove head-first into a new state, a new home, a new life, and a totally unfamiliar job, certain that angels would surround me. And a very special one cuddled me under her wing. 

This angel was a 50 something woman, with short, spiky hair, shiny gold eye shadow and shining brown eyes. Her skin is always a beautiful bronze and her cheeks are as soft and sweet as a baby’s. Not only does her flashy white smile encourage, but her embracing, unabashed and open energy takes up any space for uncertainty. In fact, her energy takes up the WHOLE room. She is unapologetic with her squishy hugs and grabs; certain with her unedited, warm words spoken in a loud and squeaky voice. The tone in her usual whiny greeting, “HI RHEEEAAA!” communicated the unspoken- hi Rhea, you young, sweet thing you work so hard I hope you’re not lonely and I just want to take care of you, but I know you don’t need me to, but I’m going to do everything in my power to make your life easier and where’d you get those cute pants? She often made me laugh, I think, without meaning to. Because she often pokes fun at herself, I feel okay using this word to describe her: She is spastic-- in the most beautiful, loving and graceful way possible.

Often, teachers who have taught for over 30 years like Maureen, have seen educational trends come and go, so they meet the latest practice with resistance. They’ve had years of experience with children of all walks, seen them thrive, seen them struggle and have lost a little belief in their ability to impact lives. Not Maureen. She was often the trailblazer for new strategies, attending trainings and training others. She put in crazy hours (when there was no volleyball game or family event to miss) and wholeheartedly looked for ways to help struggling students. I can only describe her energy as a whirlwind. I don’t know where it comes from or how she maintains it, but it’s contagious.

When I met her, I was stagnant in my summer school classroom the Friday before the five week program was to start. (Because I had no teacher training, I thought it would be a good idea to get my feet wet before the school year started. Summer school plunged me into 35 struggling, mostly Spanish speaking, first graders with no teaching resources and no mentors to guide me. PATTERN.) At a loss, I was about to go home and about to cry. She bustled through the portable classroom door with familiarity. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry I haven’t been down here sooner! I’m Maureen! I’m so glad you’re here! So nice to meet you!” Big hug. “I’m leaving town to go to the beach soon, but I wanted to see if you needed anything!” 

Not knowing what I needed I said, “I think I’m good!” 

“Okay, do you have a calendar kit?!”

“I don’t know.”

And she left.

Upon her return, arms full, she committed the first of many overtly selfless acts that would continue and amplify over the next five years. She gave me an entire box of educational visuals that would start our school day with math and reading and writing. I would know what to teach, because it was all there on the wall. She pulled things out and explained feverishly as I listened intently and incredulously. “You’ll have the kids sit here…. and hang these here… and you can use white boards…don’t worry… when school starts you’ll just do everything I do…. and do you have markers?.. .spend about 15 minutes and then change it up...here’s a good book… they can respond altogether…” In ten minutes she had poured a world of information and understanding into my lap. The floor was covered with stuff she had frantically pulled out of the box and my head was swimming. But I had an inkling of what part of my day would look like! I had a vision, a plan! She bustled back out on the hurricane she came in on, leaving more teaching knowledge than four years of college. And then I cried anyway. 

For three years, we planned together every Wednesday and, like she promised, I did what she did. Anything that was hers was mine. Our schedules were identical and the walls of our rooms, the same (except my kids’ art was always messier). We reflected and talked regularly about lessons, we shared all materials (I had none) and I asked TONS of questions. A huge part of our ability to collaborate so closely – and my ability to learn so much—was the fact that we were doing it “together.” There were teachers at Linden Elementary that did all their teaching and planning in isolation. If a colleague were to ask about an art project or inquire about a reading lesson, they would react with secrecy. There was an attitude of competition and scarcity. Maureen invited those teachers every week to our Wednesday planning meetings. This sort of “teaming” is now mandatory in most schools and considered best practice. Thanks to Maureen, it’s all I know. 

She also took special care of the kids that weren’t learning to read. I understand the meaning of meeting individual needs after watching her create individualized homework, arrange one on one time with volunteers and develop special lessons and materials specific to each of her struggling students’ needs. She closely watched their progress with regular assessments and expressed her worry to me. It was not an option for a child to leave her classroom, not reading. She embodied “no child left behind.” 

The instant familiarity I mentioned above--that lack of space for uncertainty--fostered strong and trusting relationships with the families of her students. She was totally honest with parents about their children. Other teachers were in awe of the things she could say to parents without making them angry or defensive. I got to watch her say those things, so I know how it worked. Her eyes, her tone and body language spoke loudly: I love your child, I’m worried for your child, I’m doing everything I can to help your child, I want your child to succeed and be happy and I need your help and support.

After three years of Mini Maureen training, we got to do THE coolest thing. We became StoLar. (Stonebarger/Larsen) Two teachers, one class list— twice as long. Maureen moved next to me and our principal found the money to rebuild the entrance to our portable classrooms. Now, one ramp led up to both rooms and there was one foot to travel between doors. We created one big carpet meeting area and six different small group areas throughout the two rooms. To start each day, we took turns teaching the whole group during “carpet time” while the off-duty teacher worked on secretarial tasks normally left to be finished late into the evening hours. After the big group meeting, students worked in small groups all day. They moved from teacher table to writing area to reading area to teacher table to literacy games to journals – and did something similar for math. They received individualized instruction at the teacher tables from me and Maureen EVERYDAY. I wish we had done a research study on how student performance changed. Now, not only did we share schedules, we shared two pairs of eyes observing and examining the needs of our students. And students were the center of most of our conversations! And on top of talking, I got to observe the master in action and pick up bits of genius everyday for two more years. Maureen bequeathed her motivation, curiosity and joy for the work of teaching to me and I soaked it up.

Not only did Maureen teach me a lot, she believed in me. She thought I could do anything. She always told me I was “a natural.” She had me, myself, become a mentor to new teachers. She went to the trouble of nominating me for New Educator of the Year. And I started to believe that maybe I really was a good teacher. I felt safe to explore and learn in my new field because Maureen had my back. One year, a colleague announced that she was going to be StoLar for Halloween. She would dress as Maureen and hold a puppet that looked like me and make it talk. [that actually offended me, but I included it demonstrate our level of closeness] When it came time for me to move back to Oregon to be near my family, Maureen was called as a reference on a job I'd applied for. She actually cried on the phone with the principal as she talked about me leaving. Wouldn’t you know it? I got the job. I started my new position in Oregon, totally capable, but a little afraid to be out in the world without my pit bull. 

I’ve taken her gifts with me. I’ve mentored two student teachers, who are absolute rock stars. I’ve helped five more classes of children reach a higher potential. I’ve created strong and trusting relationships with families. I’ve continued learning and loving the field, just as I watched Maureen do. If you count thirty five plus years of students, my classes of students and families and those of my students teachers and their student teachers, that’s a lot of lives Maureen has touched. And I’m just one teacher she mentored.

Maureen is an angel. I’m so sad she retired, because it leaves an incredible void at Linden Elementary and in education. However, in the five years since I’ve been gone, she’s gone from one grandchild to eight. I can’t imagine her keeping up with her job and maintaining her family as her highest priority, but I have no doubt she found a way to do it. So in that way, I'm glad she retired, because it couldn't have been easy on her. In retirement, I hope she finds the space to give to herself as generously and selflessly as she gives to others.

Here is Maureen with her husband and her eight lucky grandchildren.

I’m forever in gratitude and awe of you Maureen, as a teacher, leader and friend! Blessings to you in this new and excellent phase of life. Words can't express my thanks but maybe sharing our stories will provide a platform for your praise and recognition.