LOOKING BEHIND THE OBVIOUS

Polly Peterson only had one ear, the result of an automobile accident when she was young. The accident took the life of her fiancé, and she never married. Miss Peterson was my freshman English teacher. She dressed immaculately in belted shirtwaist dresses or pencil skirts with pale shirts and fitted jackets. Her shoes were always pumps with moderate heels. She combed her hair to cover the missing ear or wore small hats tilted rakishly. When walking about the classroom she attempted to keep her one ear facing the students.

Miss Peterson was old-fashioned and strict. We were there to learn, and she was there to teach us. The lines between teacher and student were clearly drawn. She spoke in clipped, precise sentences; stating only what needed to be said. Meaningless small talk was thought to steal precious time from the students in which they could learn something useful.

The first day of class, when we took our seats, there was a quote written on the upper left corner of the blackboard. We took little notice. Each day there was a new quote or saying, such as, “A Bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” Or, “A Penny saved is a penny earned.” We students glanced at them, and then promptly forgot as we delved into the lesson. Miss Peterson never mentioned the quotes, never drew attention to them in any way. A couple of weeks into class, we were given a test. The questions referred to the quotes that had been written on the chalkboard. Every student failed the test.

When we complained, Miss Peterson told us that we could not go through life just skimming the surface; we had to learn how to truly see, observe, and retain the knowledge around us. Whether she mentioned it or not, we should have known that if she took the time to write something on the board, it was important. Everything we saw or heard in her classroom was important. Everything we saw or heard in life was important and we should look closer, listen harder, and delve deeper to be fully enriched by the experience of living.

We learned, when we read books, to pay attention to the little details. If a writer thought it was important enough to the story to include the detail, then it was important enough for the reader to note. Our book reports would be quickly marked with an ‘F’ if we only stated the obvious plot line. Miss Peterson wanted to know the exact color of the leading character’s best friend’s eyes. She wanted to know what kind of laugh the girl had; whether it was high and tinkling, or grating. How did a character speak; in halting sentences, with fluidity and grace, or use profanity to bolster courage? Even if the author of the work didn’t use descriptions like angrily, tearfully, decisively, the way the sentences were structured would tell the reader what he needed to know about the feelings of the speaker. Were the characters peeking at events from behind drawn curtains, observing by standing in front of open windows, or moving in the middle of the action? Their placement revealed whether they were afraid, merely timid or bold. Her tests reflected the same type of questions.

Miss Peterson changed the way I wrote poetry and the way I viewed the world around me. She taught me to ask why and how. She convinced me that there was a whole world peeking at me from behind drawn curtains and I needed to draw it out into the light.

Miss Polly Peterson had been teaching for over forty years when I was fortunate enough to be assigned to her class. She could have retired before I met her. I am blessed that she continued to come into the classroom each day. She taught me to truly observe my world, to look behind the obvious, and write about it. My eyes are clearer, my ears more open, and my pen steadier because of her.