My mother was a high school arts teacher, so I was always surrounded by the arts.
I was born and raised in Rogers Park in Chicago. My father sold furniture, and my mother was a Chicago public school teacher and proud member of the Chicago Teachers Union for decades.
Once I understood Bach’s music, I wanted to be a concert pianist. Bach made me dedicate my life to music, and it was that teacher who introduced me to his world.
I want to do a character in a one-woman show who’s a yoga teacher from the Bronx. I could do the best accent: ‘Raise yaw ahms up! Reach faw da sky!’
I had an excellent math and physics teacher in high school named T.C. Patel, and in the university, I had truly dedicated professors in both physics and mathematics who gave me a sound foundation with which to pursue graduate studies.
Remember when you were in school and the teacher would put a picture under an overhead projector so you could see it on the wall? God, I loved that. Tellya the truth, I used to look at that beam of light and think it was God.
I need a teacher quite as much as Helen. I know the education of this child will be the distinguishing event of my life, if I have the brains and perseverance to accomplish it.
I was a teacher before comedy, but it was good because no two days were the same, which this job is too.
I don’t learn so good, no matter how good the teacher is.
I was a per diem floater in the same junior high school I went to. I sat in the office and made $42.50 a day, and whenever a teacher was absent, I’d substitute. I taught everything from English to auto shop.
The better the teacher, the better the future of America.
I come from a family of educators. My sister is a college teacher. My dad is a college teacher, but first a junior high teacher.
After this, I took private lessons in Italian from an elementary school teacher. He gave me themes to write about, and some of them turned out so well that he told me to publish them in a newspaper.
I was born in Norway, and when I was little I went to live in Detroit, Michigan. My father was a professor of philosophy at Wayne University, and my mother was also a teacher.
I was sent to a nice Church of England girls’ school and at that time, after university, a woman was expected to become a teacher, a nurse or a missionary – prior to marriage.
I took Spanish in high school and I didn’t do too well in it. My Spanish teacher told me not to go on with Spanish anymore, so I was discouraged a little bit.
When my opera Plump Jack was performed in 1989, my first piano teacher sent me something that I’d composed when I was four. I remember I played it, and it still sounded like me. I’m the same composer I was then.
This is at the heart of all good education, where the teacher asks students to think and engages them in encouraging dialogues, constantly checking for understanding and growth.
I was born in a small town. My parents, my father was a teacher. My mother was a housewife.
My mother was a teacher, and when she wanted to show me art and literature and science, she’d take me to museums, parks and free exhibitions.
When I left Europe in 1987 I did so with the thought that my relevance as a composition teacher would benefit from a certain cool distance to certain tendencies I had been observing for several years with increasing disquiet.
I had people in my life who didn’t give up on me: my mother, my aunt, my science teacher. I had one-on-one speech therapy. I had a nanny who spent all day playing turn-taking games with me.
The oboe is the most maddening thing of all time. I’m struggling to play something that my oboe teacher was doing when she was much younger than I am.
I discovered Deborah Ellis’s books in the school library after my head teacher encouraged me to go beyond the school curriculum and look for books I might enjoy.
I had never seen a white teacher before, but Mrs. Henry was the nicest teacher I ever had.
