An Amazing Teacher

Blue and I learned first-hand that our nation's public schools were chalk full of teachers who performed miracles on a daily basis, often with only their students as witnesses. Both our children were blessed with good teachers, but Robin came along at a critical juncture in Eliot’s life.

If only the public school system could clone her. She was fun and unflappable. Her magic was based on a simple formula: treat disabled persons with love and dignity, while at the same time challenging them. Robin never let her kids fall back on their disabilities where they had the capacity to grow.

Robin turned on the music, handed her kids instruments, and sang with them. In Robin's classroom, music, art, cooking, doing dishes, and housekeeping were not activities that were set aside when these students entered the elementary grades. While in 2005 these activities were all but dead in our public school programs due to a lack of funding and our focus on standardized tests, they were precisely what activated kids' brains for math and reading. Robin's music, both literally and figuratively, primed her students for learning, and more importantly, made them happy, thriving human beings.

There were times when Eliot's medication wasn't working and he was disruptive, but instead of calling us and telling us to come pick up our son, Robin found a way to work around Eliot's difficulties. Being able to walk away from her classroom in the morning knowing she embraced my son with all of his challenges gave me immeasurable comfort. Despite the havoc her students could wreak, she carried on, and as a result, her students carried on. Robin's classroom was a safe haven for her students and their families.

Parents who are put off by the "extreme sports" atmosphere of the severely handicapped classroom could learn a great deal from a teacher like Robin. She set aside any fears she may have had of communicating with a severely autistic child, and accomplished amazing feats, namely figuring out how to get through to her students.

"I love my new school," Eliot said shortly after joining Robin's classroom. And it's no wonder. We loved Robin too.

After a year and a half in Eliot’s classroom, Robin moved back to San Diego to be close to her family, and her brother who was having a lung transplant. We were crushed to see her go, but grateful she had come into our lives. My faith had taught me that, if she was leaving, there must have been even greater things in store for Eliot.

On Robin’s second to last day in the classroom, Eliot ran away from her, and when another adult went after him, he said he wanted only Robin to chase him.

Watching him run with one arm bent, one arm flailing, and legs whipping like eggbeaters, Robin had a hard time being angry. When she caught up with him she said, “This is not goodbye. We can email each other. And I’ll see you when you come to San Diego this summer.”

That night I showed him the pictures of Robin in action, which I had taken and put in a book as a gift for her. He looked at them for a long time and said, “I want to keep her.”

He also said, “I don’t want to say goodbye to her.”

And, “She fine! She has to stay here and enjoy!”

He spent the rest of the night looking at the pictures. I believe he was saying goodbye.

But she was right. It wasn’t goodbye. We see Robin every summer when she visits us or we visit her. Robin and I keep in regular touch, and as of this year, Eliot has a wonderful new teacher. Best of all, last Spring I nominated Robin for the San Andreas Regional Center’s Teacher of the Year award, and she won. Next weekend she comes up to Northern California, with her husband and grown children, to accept her award. It is good to see a teacher publicly acknowledged for the work she does, so much of the time with no audience but her students bouncing around the room.