I really thought Mrs. Robinson didn't like me. She was one of these old-school teachers who cut her teeth in the segregated schools of Jim Crow North Carolina. True to the lore of the day, many educators in those all-black institutions lived in and were highly respected by the local community. Teaching was one of the few professional options available for African Americans, and those educators were determined to reveal the potential of their students despite the substandard materials, facilities, and resources they had on hand.
Fast forward thirty years to the first day of our second grade class: Mrs. Robinson went around the room - which I remember as warm, brightly lit, and full of colorful posters - introducing her 25 charges to one another. She referred to other relatives of ours whom she'd previously taught: "I used to teach Cedric's uncle." Oh nooo. That meant she knew our family! And indeed she did. Seems like she had regular conversations with my mother. Mrs. Robinson didn't appreciate some of my boyhood flair, like my constant low-key humming and my steady giggles at the shenanigans of my buddy Greg (he and I are still friends to this day). But true to her training, Mrs. Robinson saw my potential and worked to nurture my strengths. She made me read aloud (because I was a good reader) to practice my diction and verbal skills. She made me work hard at spelling (because of her, even now I can spell "beautiful" and "kitchen" without transposing letters). She encouraged my mother to have me tested for the gifted student program, in which I enrolled in the third grade. And she absolutely would not tolerate my incessant talking, even relegating me to a back corner desk when I couldn't control my blabbing.
Wherever she is now, Mrs. Robinson might be surprised to learn how she impacted me most - travel. I clearly remember how we studied the globe, how she told us stories about her travels to Brazil (at the time I didn't know of any black people who had traveled abroad), and how we each had to do an oral report about another nation. Sweden was my assignment. After my mother caught me trying to cut pictures out of our home encyclopedia, she hustled me to the travel agency across the street from the main branch of the public library, where a kind and patient travel agent shared brochures and stories about Stockholm, Lapland, the Baltic Sea, Vikings, and the royal family. I proudly carried my report to school and showed off my crayoned turquoise and lemon yellow flag, along with the assorted pictures safely cut and glued from travel brochures. Mrs. Robinson was very proud of me. Not only was this the genesis of high academic standards (defintely reinforced at home), but my travel bug was also born in her second grade class - and I've now been to six continents, including twice to Brazil!
I don't recall seeing Mrs. Robinson after I left elementary school, but I hope that she saw my trajectory and felt some degree of satisfaction that she helped to set a humming, curious, chatty little boy on a path to greater learning, achievement, and adventures. Thank you, Mrs. Robinson!
Cedric Brown is a community investor and artist who also started an annual award that assists black youth with personal development goals
Fast forward thirty years to the first day of our second grade class: Mrs. Robinson went around the room - which I remember as warm, brightly lit, and full of colorful posters - introducing her 25 charges to one another. She referred to other relatives of ours whom she'd previously taught: "I used to teach Cedric's uncle." Oh nooo. That meant she knew our family! And indeed she did. Seems like she had regular conversations with my mother. Mrs. Robinson didn't appreciate some of my boyhood flair, like my constant low-key humming and my steady giggles at the shenanigans of my buddy Greg (he and I are still friends to this day). But true to her training, Mrs. Robinson saw my potential and worked to nurture my strengths. She made me read aloud (because I was a good reader) to practice my diction and verbal skills. She made me work hard at spelling (because of her, even now I can spell "beautiful" and "kitchen" without transposing letters). She encouraged my mother to have me tested for the gifted student program, in which I enrolled in the third grade. And she absolutely would not tolerate my incessant talking, even relegating me to a back corner desk when I couldn't control my blabbing.
Wherever she is now, Mrs. Robinson might be surprised to learn how she impacted me most - travel. I clearly remember how we studied the globe, how she told us stories about her travels to Brazil (at the time I didn't know of any black people who had traveled abroad), and how we each had to do an oral report about another nation. Sweden was my assignment. After my mother caught me trying to cut pictures out of our home encyclopedia, she hustled me to the travel agency across the street from the main branch of the public library, where a kind and patient travel agent shared brochures and stories about Stockholm, Lapland, the Baltic Sea, Vikings, and the royal family. I proudly carried my report to school and showed off my crayoned turquoise and lemon yellow flag, along with the assorted pictures safely cut and glued from travel brochures. Mrs. Robinson was very proud of me. Not only was this the genesis of high academic standards (defintely reinforced at home), but my travel bug was also born in her second grade class - and I've now been to six continents, including twice to Brazil!
I don't recall seeing Mrs. Robinson after I left elementary school, but I hope that she saw my trajectory and felt some degree of satisfaction that she helped to set a humming, curious, chatty little boy on a path to greater learning, achievement, and adventures. Thank you, Mrs. Robinson!
Cedric Brown is a community investor and artist who also started an annual award that assists black youth with personal development goals
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