A Public Confession

Martha Ann Cates. How could I ever forget my best/least favorite teacher in high school? She was one of the few teachers who had the audacity to make her students think. Her class was perhaps one of the only ones that actually prepared me for college.

At the time, I confess that I didn't love Mrs. Cates. I didn't appreciate the lively discussions which involved brilliant upper-classmen like James what's-his-name that received a coveted appointment to West Point. I certainly didn't appreciate the tests she gave us.

Hers were not the standard matching and multiple-guess exams I had mastered in my prior nine years of being "educated." No, hers were filled with essay questions that demanded mastery of the subject. The notorious section of her tests was the "not-so-famous quotes" which guaranteed my score would be much lower than I thought I deserved. She would have us read some obscure quote from a historical person, followed by the dreaded question: "Who could have said this?" Even with multiple choices, I never seemed to have a clue. No amount of casual study could prepare me for those questions. In my (as yet) tiny undeveloped mind, anyone "could" have said anything!

My most memorable day in Ma Cates' class (for that is what we called her due to her motherly interest in areas some thought were none of her business!) was the day she passed back one particular exam. The desks were arranged in tiers, and she walked up and down each row of desks, purposely making eye contact with each of her fifty or so students as she placed the paper in each hand.

She had to have detected my utter despair as I noted yet another "C" on my test. Oh, how I despised her at that moment. What happened next, I remember like it was yesterday. A slip of paper began to pass around the room, none too discretely. On it was an anonymous limerick which read:

There once was a teacher named Cates
Whose test questions everyone hates.
They're always unfair,
But Ma doesn't care,
Cause this is just one of her traits.


Who could have said this???

Eventually Ma noticed the stir as people would giggle and pass it on. As she snatched it up and read it for herself, the twinkle in her eye and the twitch of her lips reminded me of the delight she expressed when her former students would come back to visit this favored teacher (something that always puzzled me as a sophomore).

Mrs. Cates proceeded to copy the limerick on the huge white board for the rest of her classes to enjoy, while she speculated on the poet's identity. I think she loved that poem, though she never suspected that her youngest, most innocent-looking student (yes, believe it or not, I actually used to be quiet!) was the culprit. Looking back, I wish I had taken the credit. After all these years, the truth finally comes out. I confess. It was I.

Now, can someone please explain why I can recall all this when I can't call my own children by the correct name the first time without great effort?