“Mrs. Snave, I’m sorry, but I want to quit recorder.” Those ten words changed everything.
Wow. It sure has been a long time, but I remember every moment like it was yesterday. I was a 5th grade student at the Farmer School. Shy, soft spoken and eager to please, I was a reluctant member of the recorder band. I had attended every practice, which was held during afternoon recess. Although I adored my music teacher, Mrs. Susan Snave, I yearned to have free time once again with my friends on the playground.
I knew the one thing standing in the way of my freedom was my fear. Although my mother said I could quit, I knew Mrs. Snave’s rule was that you had to tell her in person.
For two weeks, I attended recorder rehearsal, hoping I could summon up the courage to speak to Mrs. Snave. Each day would pass in a blur of butterflies, a chorus of missed notes. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I finally realized, the fear and anxiety I was feeling might be gone if I could only speak up.
The morning I decided to tell Mrs. Snave, my stomach was a mess. How I made it to school that day, I still don’t remember. All I know is that I found myself face to face with Mrs. Snave’s office door.
Softly, I knocked, my hands shaking with every move. I waited for what felt like an eternity. It took every bit of strength I had not to turn and run to the safety of my homeroom. Somehow, I drummed up enough courage to knock again.
In an instant, there she was. Her blue eyes shone in the warmth of her friendly smile as she welcomed me into her office. Immediately, I felt at ease. This was the Mrs. Snave I adored! After all, we DID share the same first name, and I had even waved to her at the local harvest fair. I thought she was beautiful, and kind, and she could sing like no one I had ever heard. I felt very guilty telling her my news, but I knew she would understand.
“Mrs. Snave? I’m sorry, but I want to quit recorder.” Those ten words changed everything.
Her beautiful, friendly smile turned into a tight-lipped stare. Her warm eyes instantly turned a steely blue. I wasn’t expecting this. I clearly had made her angry.
Through clenched teeth, she said “Miss Huff, if you quit now, you will always be a quitter.” I hung my head in shame as she then asked me…. “Are you SURE you want to be a quitter?” I barely nodded yes and then burst into tears. I ran from the room – ashamed, scared, sad and crushed.
All these years later, I still remember Mrs. Snave. I more than remember her. She has been in my classroom with me ever since. She has been a constant reminder of the power we have over students, of seeking the right approach to meet their needs. It wasn’t until 2016, when planning a keynote address, that I took the time to think beyond the social-emotional state of myself as a 5th grader. I talked to my mom who had a memorable, unsuccessful conversation with Mrs. Snave after I came home upset. Susan believed she was doing the right thing. “We certainly don’t want to be raising a nation of quitters, do we Mrs. Huff?”
Through Google I learned Mrs. Snave was an award-winning educator who received accolades from teachers and administrators alike. In fact, she retired the same year I began teaching. Did she know the reach of her words that day? Did she reflect on her practice in ways that were clear and growth-minded? I’ll never know.
All I do know is that I have carried her around with me for years, using her lessons to spur my own sensitivity as a teacher. She has forced me to consider ways in which to challenge students while considering their emotional needs.
Mrs. Snave has made me a better teacher. She has given me a voice, she has encouraged me to put my efforts into the service of others and she taught me to look at myself as clearly as I can. Those ten words did change everything.