Cocoa's Wordfull Wednesday topic is, "My favorite teacher." I have had many teachers that I have really enjoyed and appreciated, some from school, some from church, and some tucked within life moments. I'm going to pick two, that always stand out in my memory first when I think of teachers.
The first is Mr. Harris. When I was in sixth grade, half way through the year I changed middle schools. I was excited to play in the school band and chose that as my elective. My older sister and I shared a clarinet, since it was the only instrument my family owned. The sixth grade band class was HUGE. There were at least 50 kids in the class. I quickly found out, however, why so many people were in the class, and unfortunately it wasn't because they all loved music. Band class consisted of congregating in the band room, and sitting around visiting with your friends, watching a random movie (not the educational kind), or occasionally trying to learn to play some music. You got an "A" in band just for being in the class. I hated it. I mean I really hated it, because I really wanted to learn. When seventh grade came around, I signed up for band again, and when school started we had a new band teacher, Mr. Harris. The class was huge, but after the first week with our new teacher, the number of students enrolled in band dropped to about seventeen. The new teacher insisted we play our instruments everyday. We were even required to take them home everyday to practice. Our band was small, but dedicated, and we had a year full of learning and progress. I have always been grateful for my teachers who have expected more and encouraged us to achieve more than we thought was possible.
When I was 16 and 17 I had a very nice Sunday school teacher. Every week she would bring us a nice small gift, some were things you could eat, others were decorative boxes or bookmarks. I always looked forward to going to her class because I knew she would have some little trinket for each of us, and I couldn't wait to see what it might be that week. I don't remember any of the lessons she taught, and the reason I kept going to her class was for the new trinket she never failed to bring.
After a while our class got a new teacher, Sister Hodge. She had recently served a mission somewhere in South America. She never brought us gifts or trinkets, but the lessons she taught us . . . I still treasure. I looked forward to going to her class every week and I felt excited to hear the things she would teach us. She taught with the spirit, and shared the love of God and our Savior Jesus with us. I will always be grateful for the lessons I learned from her class. It's not what we hold in our hands, but that which we hold in our hearts, that is dearest.