By Coleen Armstrong

A professional storyteller was coming to the high school, but for a fourth period assembly only. I told my class that it would be a great lesson in how riveting narratives were constructed, paced and dramatized. It would also be a welcome diversion from our mid-December routine.

The only catch was the minimal fifty-cent charge. Was anyone still interested? I explained that as a professional, this was how the storyteller earned his living. Everybody nodded.
 
“Do you want the money now?” George inquired, pulling out his wallet.
 
“I’d rather collect it tomorrow, right before we head to the auditorium.”
 
George shook his head. “You’d better take it now. I might not have it tomorrow.”

I rooted through my desk drawer for a brown envelope and then wrote his name on its front. George handed me two one-dollar bills. “I’m paying for myself,” he explained in response to my quizzical look, “and...” He looked around the room. “Aaron and Steve. And Jeff.”
 
Three heads rose. Three boys looked sheepish but impressed, and then mumbled their thanks.
 
Sean passed me a dollar. “I’m paying for me,” he said. “And...” His gaze swept the room. “Choncey.”
 
Choncey, who had never before spoken to Sean, glanced up. “Huh?”
 
“Sean just paid for you,” I said.
 
Choncey looked dazed. “Oh.” Then embarrassed. Then pleased. “Okay. Thanks, man!”
 
Somehow it caught on. The following morning a line formed at my desk. Quarters, dimes and nickels piled up as everyone counted out change.
 
Adam plunked down four quarters. “I’m paying for Julie too,” he said. Julie grinned, and they headed toward the assembly together.
 
John held out a dollar bill. “I’m covering myself...and Mike.” He and Mike strode off.
 
“Me...and Amy.”
 
“Write down Stacey...and Nicole.”
 
“Jason...and Ted.”
 
Once the room was empty, I counted both names and money. But something didn't quite balance. There were two extra quarters.
 
Then light dawned. Someone had paid for me.
 
There are many things about the teaching experience that the public finds difficult to understand. First, that we teachers have so little control over the variables and therefore, too often, the outcomes. We may work closely with a troubled kid for months, feel as if we’re making serious headway, and then hear that he’s done something foolish and gotten himself expelled.
 
Or...we may receive a visit and a heartfelt hug from someone we could have sworn years or even decades earlier hadn’t heard a word we’d said.
 
Such a roller coaster of joy and frustration. So much learning occurring retroactively, through time and experience. When primary grade teachers infuse little ones with lessons about kindness and consideration, they have no way of knowing when or if those lessons will take root. When secondary teachers witness positive results, they merely feel humbled and grateful to be along for the ride. On the subject of holiday spirit and generosity, I’d done none of the necessary groundwork. Someone else, long before, had led by example.
 
I walked across the hall to the auditorium, coins jingling inside the brown envelope. They sounded like sleigh bells.
 
The storyteller was terrific. He told a great yarn about Santa Claus getting stuck inside a chimney.
 
But the best Christmas story I would ever know was sitting in the audience.

Coleen Armstrong’s distinguished teaching career includes several state and national recognition awards.  She is the author of Please Don’t Call My Mother:  How Schools and Parents can Work Together to Get Kids Back on Track and The Truth about Teaching:  What I Wish the Veterans had Told Me.  Ms. Armstrong will present at the 4th Annual Reaching At-Promise Students National Conference in February, 2009.