Miss Myrus: The Power of Magical Thinking.

Our Miss Myrus

I've written, albeit briefly, about Miss Myrus, my 5th grade teacher, in other posts. 

A teacher can change the trajectory of a life. Over the course of 19 years of classroom learning, I have had good teachers, a few truly great teachers, and a few who should never have become teachers in the first place. But no teacher can hold a candle to Miss Hazel Myrus (now Mrs. Virgopia...or so we've heard.)

 

My long-suffering (grin) BFF who was in that class with me agrees: no teacher could make a room fill with magic like she could. A world traveler, she brought a Balinese shadow puppet theater into the room so we could all be Balinese puppeteers. She talked about standing in the Valley of the Kings and looking down to the doorway that hid Tutankhamun's tomb. When Miss Myrus told us about it, we were right there with her. She's been in India and Thailand, showed us silks from both and the differences between them, and taught us what made silk good or bad. She taught us about the Buddha, and why Shinto gates look that way. On top of it all, she could make math understandable. This was a true skill. 

My copies

Even before I set foot in her classroom, she visited our 4th grade room with books for everyone. She lent me her copy of TUTANKHAMEN after she heard I'd already read GOD, GRAVES, and SCHOLARS because if I want to be an archaeologist, I should be encouraged to be an archaeologist. She promised we would discuss this further when school began in the fall. We did. The time she spent with me changed me. I was always the trepidatious one, but Miss Myrus gave me a taste of how sweet learning could be. I think her sinister plot was to leave me hungry for more learning. It took a while, but...

If you don't know,
I'm not telling. 

When Miss Myrus decided we were going to do a play called THE MAGIC COOKIE JAR, she asked me to help "fix" the script for the class. For reasons I will never understand,  she told me I was a natural playwright. I didn't know what a playwright was, but I found out. And I would eventually give up an archaeology/anthropology major to get my degrees in theater (specifically as a director) and go on to spend some 30 years writing plays for children. And getting paid for it.  Ah, the power of suggestion. 

See, Hazel Myrus was a true magician. She made the world small enough to get through the door of the classroom at Jacob Gunther Elementary School, before blowing it all up to fit the room. Magic.

So why write about this now? Little Miss is in third grade and Young Sir just started kindergarten. Both are excited about school at the moment. I hope this lasts. I hope they have great teachers. But above everything else, I hope they have a teacher like Miss Myrus who made learning magic. 

Which got me to thinking about kids in schools. Look, I'm not advocating for LORD OF THE FLIES in 3rd grade, but I don't see why a 3rd grader shouldn't  have the choice to read Harry Potter?  Or even A WRINKLE IN TIME. Every kid needs a Miss Myrus right about now. Every kid should know the pleasure of magical thinking. And every kid should be allowed to explore books that open up new worlds, new ideas, and new horizons.

And right now, I could use some of her kind of magical thinking 

This has one of the worst, un-creative summers I can remember. I don't know if it was the heat, or the smoke in the air that made breathing a chore, but whatever the reason, working on either of the new books has been rubbish. My characters have stopped talking to me; now they just smirk, something I cannot abide. The BIG book is so complicated I want to pitch the whole thing...but I know there's a really good story buried under all that extraneous detail. I've macheted the damn thing twice now and I'm still not happy with it. The smaller book is just boring and it wasn't always boring but it is now. Everybody is too damn nice. Which brings me to the refrain that's taken up space in my head.

Too damn nice. 

Too damn nice.

See how they bore

See how they bore

They do horrid things and they never pay

They expect to be welcomed home anyway

No repercussions ever get in the way

'Cause everyone's too damn nice.

This is an ongoing issue with me and my characters. Usually, they perch on my shoulder while I'm driving and spill. Not lately. Driving over to the cemetery Sunday to see Ziggy before the High Holy Days, I called the staff meeting in the car and yeah, they ALL showed up. 

Meanwhile, for the record, this is why I like hands-free phones in the car. No one can tell I'm cajoling my characters into telling me what's going on. Not that they did. [BIG GIANT SIGH.] It just looks like I'm yammering away on the hands-free phone. I like looking less crazy some days. 

Okay. I'm gonna shut up now and go back to pretending I'm editing. Or pretending I'm getting ready for Rosh HaShanah. Either way, nothing is getting done. Feh.

For the record, Miss Myrus has gotta be in her 90s now; I have no idea if she's still out there, but I am hoping that maybe she is, and that maybe someone will see this and share it with her. She will always be the best teacher I ever had. I hope she knows that. 

The Wifely Person's Tip o'the Week

If you're in the Twin Cities,

hie yerownselves down to either Sholom Campus.

They have knishes in 2 sizes: big and small.

They are not to be missed!

Bonus Tip

L'shana tova u'metukah to all that observe.

May you be inscribed in the Book of Life

for a sweet New Year.