Losing My Friends

I’ve reached an age where I’ve begun losing friends. I remember when my parents’ social life included attending funerals for those who had passed, and now that’s happening to me. The hardest losses are always the ones you’re closest to.

My first big loss was my friend, Jim.  He died on his sixty-fifth birthday.  Way too early. Next was my cousin, Gene, who was more like a brother than a cousin.  Ruth was the toughest because in addition to being my wife, she was my best friend.

This summer I lost my 108-year-old friend Ed and shortly after his son, Criag.   I’ve lost others in between and several since. I know that it’s just a matter of time for all of us. There’s no playbook.  You get what you get when you get it.

Earlier this week, one of my teacher friends from Plainwell died.  The last time I saw Ken was at someone’s funeral.  I ate Bill Knapp’s chocolate cakes with him for eighteen years.  Always in March because that’s when his daughter Amy and my son David were born. They’re in their fifties now.  We had a big crew that gathered every year and we celebrated everyone.

One of my brightest memories of Ken took place on September 13, 1971. Ruth and I had eloped over the weekend and returned to school late Monday morning.  We walked through the front door of Plainwell Junior High and up the stairs to the second floor.  Ken happened to meet us at the top and he started to cry when he saw us. That big macho former football player melted.  Ruth did too.

I posted a story called Thank You Ken on March 31, 2018. That was over nine hundred stories ago.  Later, I included it in my book, Pondering Life’s Lessons.  Here’s another look.

Thank You Ken

I was twenty-two when I started teaching at Plainwell Junior High in the fall of 1969.  I had a girl friend who was still in college, and I drove a 1967 Mustang convertible.   I lived in an apartment that cost $75.00 per person with my good friend, Mike.  My first contract was for $6,900. I started a savings account and began to look for a house to buy.  My take home check was $149.00 every two weeks and there was more than one time when I had two or three uncashed checks in my wallet.

I taught two sections of seventh grade geography, and the balance of my classes were seventh grade English.  The name of our English text was “Roberts Linguistics”.  I wasn’t a fan.  My first hour English students were all in the band and very bright.  If it weren’t for this first hour group of high achieving students, “Roberts Linguistics” and I would have never made it through the day.  I learned as much from this group of bright kids as they did from me.

Two other teachers shared the responsibility for teaching geography.  Jim and Ken were a couple of years older and had experience working for them.  Ken and I shared a prep period, so we had several opportunities to discuss upcoming lessons and study units.  Our big claim to fame was organizing the local observance of the first “Earth Day”. The three of us did our best to work on common themes so that we could exchange teaching ideas.   Being a rookie, I could use all of the guidance I could garner.

A series of lessons that we taught dealt with religion and the various practices of groups throughout the world.  The common technology of the day was the tried-and-true filmstrip.  We had an entire series of filmstrips to assist us with our review of world religions.  We had one set, so we had to coordinate this resource between the three of us.  One morning Ken asked me if I had reviewed the filmstrip regarding Christianity.  I hadn’t.   He told me that I should review it prior to showing it in class as it referenced the circumcision of Jesus.

A day, or two, later Ken told me he had used the filmstrip, and a question arose from one of the students.   The student had asked, “What does circumcision mean?”

“What did you say?   How did you answer the question?”

“The removal of the foreskin from the penis.”

“Did they ask anything else?”

“No.  They accepted my explanation and we moved on.   I just want you to be prepared.”

And so I was.   My geography classes met the last two hours of the day.  I planned to use the filmstrip the following day.  When the next day rolled around, I was ready.  Ken had armed me with a “heads up”.  As I advanced through the filmstrip, right on cue, a voice came from the darkened room.

“Mr. Tebo.”

“Yes.”

“What does circumcision mean?”

I was ready.  “Circumcision is the removal of the foreskin from the penis.”  Asked and answered.

We moved on and class went well.   I was very happy that Ken had provided the “heads up.”

The next hour class arrived, and I was moving through the filmstrip aided lesson, when right on cue a voice came out of the darkness, “Mr. Tebo.”

“Yes, Henry.”   I recognized the voice as belonging to a student, Henry, who had moved from Arkansas to Plainwell during the summer.   He was new to our school and had a very distinctive southern accent.   In addition to being from the South, he was a bit mischievous.

“What does circumcision mean?”  Thanks to Ken this was not going to be a problem.

“Circumcision is the removal of the foreskin from the penis.”  Once again, asked and answered.

As I moved on to the next frame in the filmstrip, the voice came once again.

“Mr. Tebo.”

“Yes, Henry.”

“What’s a penis?”

Now this was something I hadn’t considered.  Ken hadn’t mentioned it, but here it was.  My nimble brain needed to think quickly.  I knew Henry was putting me on.  He was testing the young teacher and thought he had me stumped.  All I could muster was, “Henry, if you’re serious, stay after class and we’ll talk about it.”

He didn’t stay.

Most of the junior high teachers had a homeroom.   My group was 7-D.  (7th grade, fourth group) We had a series of activities organized around homerooms.  One of the big competitions was a basketball tournament.   There was a boys’ tournament and a girls’ tournament.  (Separate but equal) I was fortunate to have a pretty good group of girls.     One of the girls, Valarie, could do it all – shoot, dribble, re-bound, pass and she was lightning fast.  Coaching basketball was not my strong suit, but I enjoyed working with the kids and had a good time.

During one exciting, close game, I called time out so that we could set up a play.  I don’t remember the play, and I wouldn’t have remembered any of the tournament if it wasn’t for Ken.   As the timeout ended, I sent the girls back onto the court and as I did, I patted Valarie on the butt.  I probably said something like, “Get in there and make the shot.”

I don’t know if it was later that day, or next morning during our planning hour, Ken pointed out the error of my ways.   “Bob, you can’t be patting girls on the butt.”  I didn’t know what he was talking about.  He recounted my steps during the timeout and, sure enough, I did pat Valarie on the butt.  I was caught up in the excitement of the game and gave her a pat of encouragement, that if taken in the wrong context, could have been seen as being sexual.   It wasn’t, but Ken was right, I shouldn’t have.   I kept my hands in my pockets throughout the rest of the tournament.

Ken was an advocate of making sure that he understood a student’s question before he attempted to answer it.  Ken wanted to provide accurate information, but he needed to understand the question to accomplish his goal.

I thought this was a good practice and tried following that path myself. Honesty and frankness should serve me well.

One day I took my geography class to the library to conduct research for a project they were developing.   While the kids did their work I sat on the edge of one of the library tables so everyone could see me in case they needed to ask a question.   I wanted to be available but not intrusive.   I corrected papers while they moved freely around the library.   Students came up often to seek my council.   I was a multi-tasker, so I was able to keep correcting papers while answering their questions.  This system worked very well until Ed asked a question that needed more thought.

“Mr. Tebo.”

“Yes.”  (still correcting papers)

“What does intercourse mean?”

I stopped correcting papers and thought – remember honesty and frankness.  As I took a deep breath I thought, what would Ken say?

“Why do you ask?”  (that’s what I thought Ken would say)

“It’s in this book and I don’t understand.”

“It is? Let me take a look.”

I took the book and there it was in black and white.  Intercourse.  It’s funny how your mind works.  When I heard “intercourse” I was thinking sex.   The black and white print in the book was referencing the intercourse between two countries.   Thank God I followed Ken’s clarifying approach.

“Ed, intercourse means the trade between these two countries.  When they use the word, they’re talking about the goods and services these two countries share.”

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Tebo.”

I said, “You’re welcome.” But what I was really thinking was, thank you Ken.