Miss Isabella Fisher, Maestra

Best P6 and P7 teacher…ever!

Transcript

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Miss Isabella Fisher Maestra. In Michael's young mind's eye, Miss Isabella Fisher walked on water. Always have, always will. In fact, when in primary six at the tender age of ten he heard the news that she was also going to be primary seven teacher, he'd dance what might have passed for a jig. Luckily for him there was no one watching to witness the event. Wasn't always like that. In primary five, he was happy being taught by Miss Penny. But towards the end of that school year, he started to have ten year old doubts about who was going to continue the mission of divesting him of his ignorance and stupidity. On the playground, mostly on rainy days, he would listen to the older boys talking about their primary six experiences, mostly with the aforementioned Miss Fisher, strict mean. Fierce strict, fierce mean, never cracks a smile. Definitely not fun. So much so that all summer long Michael occasionally allowed his mind to slide into dread about the upcoming school year, usually a pickup game of football, jolted him out of his mini self imposed misery. But when the primary six news was confirmed he went into a funk. He was to be in Miss Fisher's class. Never was a young, impressionable boy so wrong. Now it is true that Isabella Fisher was strict, to a fault, some have said, but strict as she was, Michael felt for the first time in his life the school could be an exhilarating experience every single day. It's also true that she insisted first thing every morning that the entire class standing repeat the Lord's prayer until she was satisfied that all local vestiges of dialect were scrubbed from the near elocutionary collective sound. It's also true that during supervised lunchtime, she insisted on boys and girls using the appropriate utensils for eating our food. And since we're in truth disclosure mode, it's verifiably true that she raised the bar for everyone in her class, insisting that children at that tender age observed the mysteries of Spencer, Tennyson, and Shakespeare. Looking back, Michael realized Miss Fisher practiced conservatory teaching, teaching both the individual and the group at the same time for each of her charges. She was in the business of lining up twenty seven hard scrabble worlds with a word of encouragement here, a solemn nod of approval there, and a gimlet eyed almost smile on the rare occasions that she approved a question, a thought, an answer, or an appropriate gesture of compassion from another child. Miss Fisher had no favorites. That was clear to every one of her twenty seven charges. Compassion, praise, and primary school justice were partitioned equally day in and day out. So Michael was taken by surprise when one lunchtime she asked him to stay behind for a few minutes during that afternoon's playtime. Michael Dolly think that somehow he had incurred her wrath, but for what? His prime suspects were he was sliding down the banister between the second and third floors when he thought no one was looking. She noticed him copying from his neighbor, Lindsay Butcher. Sure and Guthrie had rent wenched up welched on him for hitting her. Playtime arrived and the rest of the class exited gleefully. Miss Fisher finished correcting a child's work with her signature red marking pen, folded her arms and then spoke softly. Michael, I know sometimes you can be intoxicated by the exuberance of your verbosity, but misses Derrick, your music teacher, told me that you've a promising singing voice. Now, if you're interested, and your parents approve, I'd like to offer you voice lessons at the weekends at my house. Free. You would have to find your way there, and you'd have to promise that you keep this quiet. It's an outside school activity. Michael was struck dumb. Can't got your tongue, Miss Fisher chuckled. Well, talk with your parents tonight and let me know first thing tomorrow. I will need written permission. Now off with you. Well there's still playtime left. So for a whole term until his voice broke, Michael took three voice lessons, sang at concerts that Miss Fisher arranged, and looked beyond his hard scrabble life at a different world. Looking back, these three months are probably the happiest of his entire, otherwise unremarkable school career. All because he had the good fortune to have a teacher who walked on water.