I Played 'School' as a Kid; My Aunt Played it for 36 Years

Every kid dreams about what they’ll be when they grow up. “A veterinarian!” “A basketball star!” “A police man!”, my classmates would scream whenever we were asked. I never had a strong answer for this question but the one thing I knew without a doubt was that I did NOT want to become a teacher. Having to go to school every day as an adult? NO THANK YOU. Did I play “school” with my friends? Of course, but after we took attendance, I would be ready for pick up. My dream at the time was to be a cashier. I wouldn’t have to deal with 28 screaming children and I would get to push buttons on the register all day. Fine by me!

You’re probably reading this thinking I had a change of heart and will now talk about how much teaching has changed my life. You’d be wrong. I did not, in fact, go against my elementary school convictions. I have, however, watched almost every single one of my friends follow their dreams and work their way to the front of the classroom. I’ve seen the blood, sweat, and tears they put into their careers. I’ve heard the good, bad and ugly stories about kids who finally learned how to read (under their tutelage, of course), parents who don’t care, and classroom funds that disappear faster than they arrive. Teaching is a calling and they answered the phone. 

Throughout my education, I had great teachers. Dedicated, hardworking, special, memorable people. Outside of school, I was blessed with an aunt who also picked up the phone when teaching called. My aunt Rosalie started teaching during the 1968 NYC teacher’s strike. She was forced to resign at the time, but that didn’t sway her. When a deal was reached and the teachers were back in the classroom, my aunt took her fated position in front of the blackboard.

For 36 years Aunt Rosalie shaped the minds of Brooklyn’s youth. She would come home with stories of funny things “her kids” said and did, she would make sure they were dressed warmly in the winter by bringing in socks, long pants and my cousin’s old coats for those who didn’t have much. And when the need was higher than what she was able to give from her home, she would drag my uncle from store to store to buy coats and whatever else would make the children’s lives easier; better even. My aunt was a social butterfly but she willingly and unselfishly gave up her Sundays to lesson plan, think up crafts, and prepare for her week ahead. She believed whole-heartedly and said often that every child has the right to learn.

In the last few years before her retirement, she transferred to a school near her home on Staten Island. August rolled around and she would rally the troops to help set up her classroom. The first time I went to lend a hand, I assumed we’d be there for two, maybe three hours and then we’d go for lunch. Aunt Rosalie was big on lunch. I was sorely mistaken. We started off by cleaning the room from top to bottom. Then, she would figure out the furniture layout so her class would have a good flow. Next, came decorating the walls, door, and putting nametags on desks. Finally and reluctantly because there was always more to do, lunch. We would go back the next day to make copies, cut out shapes, and all of the clerical odds and ends that needed to get done before September.

Aunt Rosalie's classroom was an extension of her home: warm, inviting and full of heart. If you haven’t picked up on it yet - my aunt loved her job. She loved “her kids”. She was a mom of one, but a mother of thousands.

Aunt Rosalie passed away in December of 2022. After her funeral, I found myself in the comments section under her obituary. I saw a name that I did not recognize and assumed it was spam, but then I read it. The comment was from a former student of hers. He wrote: “I had the honor and pleasure of having Mrs. A_____ as my 5th grade teacher in ‘85-’86. Thank you for your compassion, humor, and the passion you showed me and my classmates. She will not be forgotten.” Through sobs, I took a screenshot of the comment and silently thanked the person for their kind words and for the recognition of something I knew my whole life - she was the best. 

This past May I had the opportunity to celebrate the 100th year anniversary of my elementary school. I was excited to go inside and tour the school; see my old classrooms, the auditorium and smell the lunchroom. After the ceremony, they had a reception where I was able to see many of my former teachers, some of whom retired recently. I felt like a kid again, but in the best way. The daughter of one of my favorite teachers is now a dean in the school. I went over to her to tell her what her father meant to me when I was a student. I was elated to hear that he is doing well and living in Florida. I was able to catch up with my first grade teacher, who painstakingly took her lunch/prep time to teach me how to walk down steps. I went to see the gymnasium, where I bumped into my former gym teacher. After over 20 years, he still remembers me. 

I didn’t write this to talk about my aunt, although I will always take the opportunity to sing her praises.

I didn’t write this to talk about my elementary school.

I wrote this to thank the teachers who care about their students, who want what’s best for their students. Who make their classrooms fun and engaging and conducive to learning. The pandemic took a toll on many industries but I think one of the biggest tolls was on teachers. People finally realized that it’s not just a job, it’s a labor of love. I tip my hat to each and every one of you. I also want to remind you that even when the days are hard and the years are long, you are making a difference and leaving a mark on each and every student that comes into your room.