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1791 | February 2017
Guest Written by Meg Martinson, Upper School English Teacher
I never had any idea what I wanted to be. My career aspirations never went much past the hope that I would blithely play sports my whole life. I always liked school, but to be totally honest, I think that was because school meant playing sports. I attended competitive schools, and I had a well-defined niche that I thought would last forever. But, school ended – then what?
I never had any idea what I wanted to be. My career aspirations never went much past the hope that I would blithely play sports my whole life. I always liked school, but to be totally honest, I think that was because school meant playing sports. I attended competitive schools, and I had a well-defined niche that I thought would last forever. But, school ended – then what?
After a few years of traveling abroad and living and working in Jackson, Wyoming, I realized that I missed school. But what I missed was the academic part of school. I was hired as a substitute teacher for the Teton County School District and flailed my way through random music, history, English, and film classes. I even survived a day in Kindergarten. It was terrible and amazing all at the same time. Broke and missing my family, I applied for jobs at New England prep schools. Looking back on it, this career path should have been obvious.
My grandmother, my great uncle, my uncle, multiple cousins, and my father were or are teachers. Following in the footsteps of my grandmother and my father is particularly inspiring and gratifying. I feel proudly linked to this family tradition.
My grandmother, Margaret Kemper Bonney, taught English from the mid-1950s to the early-1980s in Massachusetts’ public schools, and later in a private school in North Carolina. A stickler for spelling, she researched and published innovative ways to teach spelling that she employed throughout her career. While in North Carolina, she developed an AP English program for which the school and students were grateful—the complimentary nature of this accomplishment obviously makes me chuckle as Berwick moves toward 2020. In a yearbook dedication, Granpeggy—that’s what we called her—was honored for her commitment to the school’s growth and for being “a terrific lady.” This last epithet makes me giggle, but the sentiment from the students is clear; they admired, appreciated, and benefited from her teaching. This same school has a standing volunteer service award in her name.
My father, James Kemper Bonney, Granpeggy’s son, began teaching English in a public school in Ohio in 1968 before moving back to Massachusetts. He too made the eventual switch to private school where he taught English and woodworking, but the bulk of his energy was spent as a head of school. I attended his school in Marblehead, MA for nine years; my older brother and sister were there for shorter durations. I was never embarrassed to be the head of school’s kid (except for the one time I got in trouble). I think this was because I knew my dad was good at his job; he was measured, fair, thoughtful, and totally dedicated to the school, the kids, and his faculty.
As the head, my dad would guest teach a unit in ninth grade English, and I had the pleasure of fumbling through Pygmalion with him. As an introverted student, I’m sure I didn’t dare say more than five words, but I do remember his steady guidance and enthusiasm for the text, the characters, and the conflicts.
My grandmother’s and my father’s teaching careers span back almost sixty years to a time when computers were an oddity. High tech overhead projectors came and went. My dad recalls the smell of the duplicator machine and the dire consequence of making a mistake on the master copy. Library searches were cumbersome and confusing and unhelpful. And the darn bulb in the slide projector always blew at the wrong moment.
Now, these relics of the past, only some of which I even remember, are sources of deep sighs and relief that newer inventions have replaced them. “So much has changed,” you might say. But, has it?
In the nine years that my dad was a classroom teacher before he stepped into administration, he mostly taught sophomores. Interestingly, the cornerstone of my ten years in the classroom has been sophomores. He recalls loving Macbeth, Lord of the Flies, and American short stories—all texts that I have or do cover. But, actually, what I am thinking about is not content-related.
Today we have catchy terms like “inquiry based learning” and “design thinking,” but what is not new is the fundamental and essential fact that teachers care about people. Our subjects excite us, but no content trumps the importance of our relationships with our students and colleagues. Learning cannot happen without them.
When I asked my dad about his career in education, he spoke about two instances in which a seemingly insignificant interaction became incredibly meaningful. In one instance, an exchange over summer reading books with a student led that boy, in part, to pursue a professorship in writing. Then, a note my dad wrote to a former student who had lost her father became a source of steadiness and support as she managed her new reality. His memory didn’t leap to a great lesson, or a presentation, or a new assessment. Neither does mine.
When I look back on my ten years, I think of the challenging kids whom I had to get out of bed in the morning at boarding school. I remember going out for pizza with a student so we could talk about her fractured family. I have saved thank you notes from students. There have been so many hugs and high fives I can’t count.
I really love my dad, if you can’t tell. He also told me about his relationships with his colleagues and his love of school culture and the unifying sense of purpose. Some of my dad’s best friends in life were his colleagues. At the risk of sounding like a follower, mine too! Never have I been more myself, more challenged, and more supported than as a teacher. It is hard to talk about this and avoid hyperbole—suffice to say, I am happy and whole thanks to those around me.
While I can’t ask Granpeggy these questions, my guess is that she would agree and have her own tales of challenging but endearing students, students she connected with on incredibly personal levels, and colleagues she admired and loved. The necessity for these relationships will never change despite evolving terminology, trends, and research. And I would argue that this is the essential ingredient. To succeed with teenagers in a classroom, a teacher must possess a deeply innate willingness and capacity to care about them as people. This is why teachers make such good friends.
If it wasn’t for Granpeggy and my dad, would I have still found teaching? Who knows? But following their lead helps it all make sense.
Berwick Academy
31 Academy Street
South Berwick, Maine 03908
Contact:
Admission | 207.384.6300
Main Office | 207.384.2164
South Berwick, Maine 03908
Contact:
Admission | 207.384.6300
Main Office | 207.384.2164
Berwick Academy, situated on an 80-acre campus just over one hour north of Boston, serves 520 students, Pre-Kindergarten through Grade 12 and Postgraduates. Berwick students are from Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and several countries. Deeply committed to its mission of promoting virtue and useful knowledge, Berwick Academy empowers students to be creative and bold. Berwick strives to graduate alumni who shape their own learning, take risks, ask thoughtful questions, and come to understand and celebrate their authentic selves.
