A Spectacular Failure Led to my True Path

I wasn’t prepared for teacher disapproval

A picture of me in my young 20’s, around the time I became a student teacher.

While taking college classes, I’d had dreams of becoming a fashion designer or interior designer. Though I did well in those classes, I eventually chose what I saw as the most practical option; to train as a high school Home Economics teacher.

The final classes to prepare for student teaching were taught by Dr. Hazel Taylor Spitze. Dr. Taylor Spitze was my favorite kind of teacher - strict, demanding, and brilliant. She taught us that lecturing was the least effective form of teaching, especially for Home Ec students. Students learned best from doing and participating, not from passive listening. Since Home Ec is designed to teach practical life skills, she admonished us that we should never lecture.

To prepare for student teaching, I taught one day a week at a local high school. How I loved that assignment! High school Home Economics students are rarely honor students. These are often students who have trouble at school. My heart went out to them, and I wanted to be encouraging. I taught a sewing class and was surprised to see so many male students. There was one boy in particular who wanted to make a floor-length black satin cape.

This boy was quirky, a loner, and seemed to have emotional problems. We connected easily when he sensed that I accepted and respected him. It was fun helping him make his dramatic cape and I loved the feeling of creating a safe, nurturing, and creative space for him.

My early experiences of teaching validated my decision to become a teacher. I felt deep satisfaction from the relationships I built with my students.

Under Dr. Taylor Spitze, I learned to create innovative lesson plans to give students skills they could use for a lifetime. Foods/Nutrition, Family Relationships, Sewing, Child Development, Interior Design and Consumer Economics all fell under the Home Ec umbrella. I wrote my lesson plans on index cards and filed them in a recipe file. Ideas for lessons came to me easily and I could hardly wait to use them in an actual classroom.

My science and math courses were all complete and I could focus on classes that better suited me. I was not stretched too thin by lab after lab. Walking home from class, I sang to myself. For the first time, I loved being at University. At last, I felt that I belonged.

I applied to Batavia High School for my student teaching experience. My parents went to high school in Batavia. I liked the idea of being in their town, and I could live with Aunt Eva and Uncle Pete. Mom asked Aunt Eva if I could stay with them. She agreed. My application to Batavia High School was accepted.

What would I wear? As usual, I had limited funds. All through high school, I received free fabric from my father’s friend, Mr. Thomas. Mr. Thomas owned a fabric store and gave me the remnants from his shop for many years. Suddenly he decided to give his fabric to someone else.

My fabric collection was dwindling but I still had many yards of a black knit twill. I sewed a black suit jacket, skirt, and pants. A black and white buffalo check knit fabric was also in my stash. I made a skirt and vest from this fabric. White, red, and blue blouses, and an ivory sweater completed my wardrobe. I also hemmed a silk scarf with a pattern of black and red concentric circles on a white background.

By mixing and matching these pieces, I could wear a different outfit every day for a couple of weeks. Black pumps, already in my wardrobe, could be worn with every outfit.

I showed up for my student teaching experience, excited and eager. My cooperating teacher, Mrs. Childress, taught sewing, child development, family relationships and interior design. Another teacher had all the food and nutrition classes. This suited me perfectly. Mrs. Childress taught my favorite classes.

My lesson plans came from my recipe file of ideas. I also thought of new ways to teach. For the segment on marriage, I invited two teenaged mothers to speak to my students. They told the students what it was like to get pregnant and become a mother while still in high school. After each young mother told her story, the students asked questions about their experience. In that same segment, I helped my students write marriage contracts to get them thinking about what they wanted from marriage.

In child development class I used the classroom to set up hazards for children. I asked the students to list all the hazards they could find – an iron with the cord dangling, open outlets, small pieces that could be swallowed, etc.

Every class I taught involved the students in active and novel ways. My students paid attention and were engaged in class. They were learning skills they would use in their adult lives. I loved teaching!

Mrs. Childress, however, watched me with a frown on her face. She gave me no feedback one way or another. She did ask why I wore so much black.

“It’s a strange choice for such a young woman,” she said.

I didn’t explain that I sewed my entire wardrobe for free and had no money for clothes.

Midway through the 14-week semester, Dr. Brand, my supervising teacher from the college, was supposed to visit for an evaluation. The first time I met Dr. Brand was in a college class when I was having a migraine headache. In the middle of class, I started to see flashing lights, and then blind spots. My left arm and hand became numb. I knew severe pain and nausea would soon follow.

I worried about getting home to my apartment in this condition and prepared to leave. One of my classmates buttoned my coat because my hands weren’t working right. I started to cry. Dr. Brand looked on with a disgusted look on her face. I could tell she didn’t understand classic migraine symptoms. I had made a bad first impression.

Once I began my student teaching assignment, Dr. Brand didn’t show up for the mid-semester evaluation. No matter. I felt good about my teaching and the enthusiastic response from the students.

However, as the days continued, I felt worse and worse about Mrs. Childress. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the problem but could tell she disapproved of me. It’s not so much what she said, but how I felt around her. I didn’t think she liked me or my teaching.

Mrs. Childress told me she wanted to teach a class while I observed. She lectured for the entire class. Some students had trouble staying awake. My hunch was that I taught differently from her, and it bothered her to see the students so engaged in my classes.

Mrs. Childress’s disapproval weighed heavily on me. I started to lose confidence. Though I loved teaching and coming up with new lesson plans, every day I felt worse. Aunt Eva listened to me each night and encouraged me.

Though a very proper woman, Aunt Eva suggested that when I saw Mrs. Childress frowning at me, I should say to myself, “Frankly, I don’t give a damn.”

For Aunt Eva, the word “damn,” was scandalous. That word showed her outrage.

In the evenings, after preparing my lesson plans for the next day, I spent time with Aunt Eva and Uncle Pete. We laughed, played games, and told stories. I tried out a new recipe for dinner. Being with them was a joy.

When Dr. Brand finally showed up, there were only 3 weeks left in the 14-week semester. Dr. Brand talked with Mrs. Childress first. She finished at lunchtime and asked if there was a private place where we could eat our sack lunches. I suggest we go to Aunt Eva and Uncle Pete’s house. They were both at work. We would be alone.

Dr. Brand weighed more than any of the other supervising teachers. Dr. Taylor Spitze had a blind spot about larger people. She believed people gain weight because of a lack of discipline. Vocal about her beliefs in front of Dr. Brand and the whole class, her words were humiliating for some. I felt sorry for Dr. Brand.

I invited Dr. Brand into Aunt Eva’s kitchen. She had packed a dry sandwich and asked if there was any mayonnaise. I gave her the jar and a knife as she told me that Mrs. Childress was upset because I had been slacking off and not teaching. There was a good chance I would fail my student teaching. She told me I’d be lucky to squeak by with a “C.” Her voice scolding, she didn’t ask for my opinion or give me a chance to explain my teaching methods.

Stunned, I looked at her with my mouth hanging open. I’d felt Mrs. Childress didn’t like me, but I had no idea she thought I was failing. I was shocked speechless and said nothing in my own defense. My mind was reeling and confused.

Somehow, I finished the school day and went home to an empty house. The house was warm, but my body was so cold that my teeth were chattering. I got into bed and pulled the covers up, but I was still cold. Pulling all the blankets out of the linen closet, I piled them on the bed and crawled under the covers. Aunt Eva came home to find me shaking with my teeth chattering under a mound of blankets.

“What did she do to you now?” she asked in horror.

Crying, I told her what had happened. She was indignant.

“You work very hard. I see you preparing your lesson plans every night. How dare they?” she asked.

The weeks of disapproval and the shock of this failure drained away my last bit of confidence. I couldn’t imagine standing in front of a classroom and teaching in this state. I called Dr. Brand and told her I’d decided to drop out of student teaching. She said that was probably a good idea since I was likely to fail anyway.

Then I called Mrs. Childress at her home and told her I was dropping out of student teaching. I honestly felt if I went back to class, I’d have a nervous breakdown. She told me to take the day off and come to her home after school the next day.

The next day, Mrs. Childress and I sat together in her living room. She told me that she felt I wasn’t teaching because I didn’t lecture. I explained to her that I had been taught not to lecture and why. Suddenly, she understood.

“Karin, I am so sorry. I didn’t know. Please come back and finish. I do not want to be the reason you don’t become a teacher.”

Mrs. Childress’s encouragement bolstered my confidence. I decided to finish the program. Calling Dr. Brand while still at Mrs. Childress’s home, I told her I had decided not to drop out after all.

Dr. Brand responded, “I don’t know about that Karin. Are you prepared to do some work for a change?”

Her harsh words shattered my budding confidence. This woman was against me. I didn’t believe there was any way I could convince her otherwise. She would likely fail me no matter what I did.

“Never mind,” I told her. “I am going to drop out after all.”

Why did I give up my dream of being a teacher so easily? I knew in my heart that I simply couldn’t continue. Somehow, my body wouldn’t let me.

Packing up my things, I moved back home. To take my mind off my failure, I started a sewing project. I so lacked confidence that I couldn’t even sew for fear of making a mistake. I folded the fabric and put it away to take a walk.

I walked past my tree. For some reason, I didn’t feel like climbing. I took the steppingstones across the creek to sit on the hill that overlooked Triple JK Ranch. Feeling utterly defeated, I contemplated my future. What would I do next? I truly had no idea.

My little sister Katy walked up to sit next to me. Ten years younger than me, she was only 12.

“Daro,” she sighed, using the childhood nickname she gave me when she was little more than a baby. “I have no idea what to do with my life.”

I could tell she was genuinely troubled. How could this little girl be worrying about the same thing I was? I was surprised. It was such a coincidence.

“But Bug,” I replied, using my nickname for her. “You have so much time to figure things out! You are too young to know what you will do with your life. Please don’t worry.”

My words did not comfort her. I didn’t know what else to say. There was no wisdom I could offer to her or me.

When I returned to campus at the end of the semester, I planned to pack up and leave forever. I saw my guidance counselor. We changed my major from teaching to a general Home Ec degree. I would need to take two more classes to graduate. I decided to finish up near home at another University.

Dr. Taylor Spitze called. “Karin, you need to come back to class for the wrap-up week.

“Why? I will not be earning any credits from your class. Why do I need to return?’ I asked.

“I expect to see you,” she replied firmly.

I sat in Dr. Taylor Spitze class with my classmates. Every other student finished their student teaching assignment and passed. Each student talked about their experience.

When it was my turn, I lifted my chin and said as firmly as I could, “Things did not work out for me. I dropped out.”

It was hard, but I did it.

After class, Dr. Taylor Spitze called me to her office. “What happened?” she asked.

I told her my story. Visibly disgusted with Dr. Brand, Dr. Taylor Spitze told me grimly that Dr. Brand would be dealt with. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Dr. Brand.

Then she told me, “You were the star of the class. The lesson plans you created were more imaginative and effective than those of any other student. You are a natural. I expected you to be the best teacher of the group.”

I was surprised to hear such high praise from this exacting teacher. She really felt that way? About me? I’d had no idea.

She asked, “Why didn’t you call me? If you had, I would have sorted things out.”

I hadn’t thought of calling her.

Dr. Taylor Spitze continued, “I insisted you come to class to face your failure. This will make it easier for you to move on. Learn from this. Don’t ever again let other people limit you.” She added, “You don’t need to finish the rest of the week. You’re done now.”

I walked home. It helped to know Dr. Taylor Spitze saw so much potential in me. I was grateful to her. She was right. Facing this failure helped and I had let myself down by not believing in my abilities. I felt ready to move on.

I asked Dr. Taylor Spitze to write a recommendation letter. She agreed and wrote many positive things about me. At the end of the letter she wrote, “Karin does best in a supportive environment.”

No kidding.

This failure launched my life in a whole new direction. I’m not sure you can call the corporate world a “supportive environment.” Quite the opposite, but my father had prepared me for those brawls.

Fighting for my feminist beliefs was a battle I was strong enough to face, but teachers had always been my allies and even my friends. I had no defenses for teacher disapproval.

Dropping out of student teaching was the best thing that could have happened. It’s funny how sometimes our worst failures can become one of the greatest blessings in our lives.

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