Chapter 9
Moving on from the fourth grade experience was an unavoidable and fast approaching task. Thankfully, I would not be alone in this endeavor. Put in the same position were not only my fellow classmates, but the former students of Mr Gibbs at that time the prior year. If they could do it, certainly I could as well. I was able to witness their process as one of gradual steps. They were the ones who would pop in every so often on their way to the fifth grade classrooms. In thinking of those visits, I noticed how most had occurred in the school year’s beginning stages. As the year went by, I recognized how they would become less frequent, ultimately becoming a simple “Hey, Mr. Gibbs!” followed by a wave or hug in the hallway, if their paths happened to cross with him.
These particular students were in the final stages of their elementary school years when the final week of the 2010-11 year began. I first attributed this to the sudden frequency of their presence during this period. The yearlong trend of seeing them less and less out of the question, just as were most “normal” things at that point in the year. Once the month of June kicks in, nobody has any business being at school. Yet there we were … there they were … a regular group of his former students there by our door at various points in the day. Some would cursorily peak through the window, then rush away, while others were less shy and just barged on in. My initial thoughts were, I guess this is just what his former students do? Honestly, I could not blame them. There in June, there wasn’t much else to do.
Oh, wait … there was one thing … the thing. When I reflected on my next fifth grade steps the week before, it seemed like a world away. At that same time, though only across the hall, I felt the same way about the classroom of Mr. Gibbs. My introduction to new material for the following year was less appealing when I understood he would not be the one to fully immerse me in it. Thankfully, at that stage in life time is viewed as a slow-paced slog. The two months before the start of that fifth grade chapter might as well have been two years to my nine-year-old vantage point. I partly attribute this perspective toward time as why that single week seemed to never end. But there was one other thing … the thing.
Most teachers have one thing that, from day one of the school year, holds a great deal of weight and influence over their class, an incentive you might say. It is common for these things to be along the lines of a holiday party or extra recess time. These ordinary “little” things seem much bigger to younger students when they are confined to the usual schoolwork routine. The fate of their becoming a real thing is always up to the student behavior and/or performance. A teacher usually bases their methodology on the nature of their class. Some require more behavioral prodding while others will need extra motivation on the performance side of things. Then you have those groups where they need both which, every so often, all teachers can attest to experiencing.
While we did celebrate holidays, along with earning a few extra minutes of recess every now and then, Mr. Gibbs never dangled those treats over our heads. He simply didn’t have to, though it has nothing to do with us as students. As Mr. Gibbs did with every other aspect of teaching, there was another, more ambitious approach he took. By fourth grade, we had all celebrated the usual Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Valentines celebrations with our classmates and teachers in years past. We still did so with Mr. Gibbs, while also sprinkling in several other rarities, most of which I have happily noted in this project. Most of those new additions to the school year routine were of quick notice events, with a day or two, sometimes a week, was given to anticipate and prepare for them. This thing was something entirely different and almost legendary, leading many of us to wonder if it was really a “thing” at all! Even we, as a group of nine and ten year olds, were not naive enough to fully invest in “Hawaiian Day” upon the first mention. Yes … Hawaiian Day.
No matter what amount of naivety was involved in our view of this occasion, the lure and curiosity grew whenever it was discussed. Our belief and ultimate investment was born out of credibility. We held onto every one of Mr. Gibbs’ descriptive words and notable excitement he had for this “Hawaiian Day.”
He shared his sentiments by saying, “I loved Hawaii. I’ve been about ten times and I just loved it. I wanted kids to have something- to have an experience that they were likely never going to have. I felt like if you made it big enough it gave kids something to look forward to and it helped us over that hump for EOGs.”
If this love was not already clear to us from his giddy expression of excitement at any mention of the “Hawaiian Day” celebration, it certainly would be when the day finally arrived. Also evident to us was the satisfied curiosity of the growing number of morning visitors who had been part of the prior year’s celebration in his class. Their motivation for doing so went beyond seeing their former teacher and was primarily based around encountering a special memory. Any access to it, however, would be very limited on Hawaiian Day. Mr. Gibbs, before any of them could get past the doorway, would politely prod them along to their fifth grade classrooms. This was our day, they had already had their time.
I can remember how each of these fifth grade students did not protest this whatsoever. It was as though they were not seeking an invitation for themselves, only a brief glimpse of an enjoyable moment from their past. That was all it took to confirm Hawaiian Day had lived another year. Their expressions of satisfaction proved how they knew, more so than anyone else, our class was in for a treat.
The “anyone else” factor did play a part in upholding the privacy of our event. Placed back on our door’s small window was the same sheet used to cover it during the testing days. This was a key factor to the added levels of intrigue from those in the “anyone else” grouping of the surrounding fourth grade students in other classes. By this point in the year they had gotten good at detecting our “special” events and activities unique to our class alone. None of them had warranted the level of exclusivity being shown for this one, however, nor had any of those been considered a secret. We were proud of the “extra” things we did and happily recounted them to those in other classes.
Hawaiian Day would be no different, even though our door window was covered. As students, along with Mr. Gibbs and his teaching assistant, we were “covered,” too … in Hawaiian attire. The same could be said of the classroom’s interior, which Mr. Gibbs had immaculately decorated in all-things “Hawaii.” By doing so, it was yet another instance where, if we could not physically go to the location ourselves, Mr. Gibbs would bring it directly to us. By bottling up the best aspects from his own visits, it served as a personal invitation to continue expanding our horizons and explore some of the finer things in life. Enjoying the fruits of our yearlong labor was right on message with the “work hard, play hard” balance Mr. Gibbs managed so well.
He did so by being a living example and embodiment of what that phrase meant and we could see it once again when entering his classroom on Hawaiian Day. There waiting for us inside was an entirely new world he had so generously created for our enjoyment. Taking the place of our desks, which had been pushed aside and out of the way, were two long folding tables, covered by a dark table cloth. Atop each table was a diverse spread of snacks, flowers, decorative lays and, at the center of the ensemble was a water flowing fountain to bring it all together. What was represented through the eye-popping decor was a long-awaited, highly anticipated promise fulfilled by Mr. Gibbs. He had come through for us yet again.
Talk is cheap, but there is a priceless quality to taking action. It is appropriate to associate the terms “action” and “priceless” together in my recall of this event and entire school year. Everything we were part of, both big and small, was nothing short of “priceless.” I know now, however, those add-ons and “‘special’ events and occasions unique to our class alone’ did not come without a cost for Mr. Gibbs. It was one he so generously paid for with his time, resources, and … from the looks of our room on Hawaiian Day … talent!
Our decorations were not just pulled together in a matter of minutes, they were well-thought and carefully crafted with immense detail, just as every lesson plan had been.
“I spent weeks beforehand thinking about the menu- what we were going to eat, how we could cook it.” Mr. Gibbs explained, “What I would normally do is cook it at home, get somebody to warm it up and bring it, or cook it in a crockpot at school.”
It is safe to say our class was overjoyed when we discovered Mr. Gibbs would be catering our celebration. Having done so for some of our other “special” classroom occasions, his legitimate side job as a professional caterer was quite evident. Those other tasteful options he provided established all the credibility we needed to look forward to whatever he would come up with next. In just a single day, Mr. Gibbs was able to cover all the bases of his expertise. Before any of us could walk in and begin the day, he had already checked off the decor and cooking boxes. Even amid the time of celebration, there was no chance the all-important one for “teaching,” his most frequently represented, would be left out.
Mr. Gibbs was never not in a position to express the power of his example. Always one to practice what he preached, his pulpit was one that followed him wherever he went and was present in whatever we did. In just a matter of months, he had taken us to many places, and, both within and outside our class walls and school halls, he had introduced us to a lot of things. The mere categorization of “things” is a big undersell, though, as a better association would be one of treasure. Mr. Gibbs had created a map for each of us to follow and uncover the realistic aspects of life. The most prominent and frequent truth of them all was at the core of this entire end of year celebration.
“That was our big blowout.” said Mr. Gibbs, “It was time for us to be us and enjoy ourselves. I knew it was all coming to an end, for our year, and you all were never going to be the same group of children again. You needed a chance to finalize things, cement relationships, and just enjoy each other.”
While our emotional maturity had not reached a point to recognize this then, Mr. Gibbs gave each of us a helpful nudge to become aware of the reality of that moment in time. Ultimately, it was just that … a moment, a brief, fleeting period in the overall progress of our existence. There was no better reality to experience for the first time. While it was fed to us in a delicate manner, masked with good food, fun activities, and Hawaiian decorations, the lesson was never too far from our reach. Approaching us ever so quickly, and at a pace beyond our comprehension, were the facts of life that could no longer be consumed in small portions.
What seemed daunting to most students our age, many of whom had been taught by their teachers to view their next steps as such, Mr. Gibbs revealed an entirely new angle to approach them. Moving on was the typical part of this equation, but moving up was a way to alter our entire mindset amid the inevitable end of this dreamlike chapter. There was simply no use to look in any other direction. Having been led to the highest heights in those months, there was less fear in the next steps on the tall ladder of education. In the months and years to come, this preparation would have plenty of opportunities to put the lessons to good use. But there was still no guarantee of making the most of them, especially as my surrounding circumstances never dipped in their levels of difficulty.
I was quick to recognize how any reliance toward the comfort of consistency was a recipe for disaster. While Mr. Gibbs had provided me with plenty of amazing ingredients, I was given the task of learning the order in which to apply them. The following year would be the soft introduction to a routine that would follow me all the way through college. No longer would I enter a classroom at the beginning of the day and leave the same one at the end of it. My teachers, yes teachers with an ‘s,’ would each specialize in certain subjects. No longer would I have one who covered all the bases at certain times each day. With every specific teacher came a different classroom, subject, and set of classmates in each space. This, of course, resulted in different environments and dynamics day in and day out with my fellow students.
From the vantage point of Mr. Gibbs, who has been in nearly every level of learning, there is a key solution to softening this kind of system shock.
“One of the important things that teachers need to do is teach students independence.” He explained, “When you get to middle school it is very hard because teachers in general believe that middle schoolers should be taught with a high school model. You know, go to several teachers and have different classes. They’re not going to have that family, that I speak so much about, when they get to middle school, unless they connect with a homeroom teacher or their math teacher. It’s not going to be a group of kids together with them building that family.”
Coming to grips with this next phase of my journey in education, I finally chose to have an open mind and heart when facing the new endeavor. If individual students shut themselves off, they become nothing more than an individual. A student’s path to the biggest milestones in education was never meant to be traveled alone. Moving forward, it was vital for me to understand that, though I would be without the “family” model in my classes, the one of “team” was always an available option. Even if there were three or four different ones in a single day’s schedule, the time with them was to be approached with the utmost enthusiasm and effort. Much of each trait would be needed in order to find my role within the teams, but before I could put forth either one, I had to first become hyper-aware of the people around me. They would not be limited to those in my immediate classroom space, but were in every area of my school. Among the other students, teachers, and staff, I had to understand how everyone played an essential part in the grand scheme of our school team.
With a grasp on the grand scheme of a school’s operation, students will have a better chance of appreciating every role, including their own. I know I certainly did. This perspective ultimately allowed me to do my job to the best of my ability. It only took a few days into my first week of middle school to realize I would be unable to do so on my own. The well-worn phrase “it takes a village” reigns true in a student’s development, especially for one who is in middle school. As that student in a new environment, the answers I needed to survive would not be given to me. I had to seek them out. What first seemed to be a winless feat initially left me discouraged. It was not until, on several occasions, I began to notice certain people in our school halls. These particular individuals happened to be adults and, thanks to their official badge and lanyard, I was sure they worked there. But what did they do?
For a long time I associated adults in a school purely as teachers. Why else would an adult want to be roaming around a middle school hallway, associated with students in this, shall we say, delicate age range? My ignorance was put to rest when I harkened back to a major point Mr. Gibbs always made sure to emphasize to us.
He made note of it by saying, “I think the best thing that higher elementary teachers can do is teach kids how to go and find answers from the people that can help them.”
It all ties back to his focus on the importance of independence. We had to go out on our own to “go” and “find” whatever we needed to set ourselves up for academic and personal success. Unbeknownst to everyone in the world of education, and the entire world in general, an unprecedented state of events was awaiting in the distant future. It would put everything we had ever learned through a test tougher than anyone could ever think, or want, to imagine.
Chapter 10
When students think of difficult transitions in education, it is easy to position teachers on the “giving” end of those complications. Without considering their place on the “receiving” end of such adjustments, perspective toward an educator’s own trials can be outright dismissed. Losing this vantage point rids any sense of empathy and grace for those who stand in front of a class full of students, each consisting of their own personality and learning styles. To add other forces beyond those daily ones in the “normal” school teaching routine is a feat that deserves more than mere acknowledgement, but wholehearted appreciation.
In the year following my sixth grade experience I had a prime opportunity to live this out. Only two years removed from the most memorable one in my education timeline, I had survived my first year in a new middle school atmosphere. This included new classmates from other elementary schools, older surrounding students who were the size of grown adults, newly discovered bad language, a uniform dress code, two new teachers half way through the year, and a long-term substitute teacher for another class. Whew. Making it through those factors deserves its own story! But that is beside the point. While I then had a starring role in my own middle school world, there was a very familiar character who had entered the same orbit. Mr. Eddie Gibbs, who happens to have the starring role in this story, was that character.
When I think of the time span of two full years now, it feels more like two months did back then. In starting my seventh grade year, I had that two year separation from my time in Mr. Gibbs’ class, yet it felt so far back from where I found myself. Back then, each year seemed like its own separate era of my own growth and personality. While the other two “eras” of fifth and sixth grade did not come close to reaching the one from fourth grade in 2010-11, proximity to that period would occur in a more literal sense in the seventh grade year.
“It was hard. It was a hard transition,” Mr. Gibbs recalled when discussing the start of his 2013-14 school year. This shift for him went far beyond a new group of students, different classroom, or different hallway in a school. Not only did it include each of those factors, it also consisted of an entirely new grade level (sixth grade) and school building altogether … my school building!
While he had jumped from grade to grade many times before, Mr. Gibbs had established a strong foundation and identity in teaching fourth grade at Vanceboro Farm Life Elementary School. His reputation was one that a vast majority of staff, students, and parents of its community held in high regard, and Mr. Eddie Gibbs felt those same sentiments. Softening the jolting blow of change were the signs of familiarity in his new environment, as Mr. Gibbs was not the first Vanceboro Farm Life teacher to end up at West Craven Middle School.
In a time of vulnerability, these individuals were more than past colleagues to Mr. Gibbs, who explained, “I got to teach with some of my people. That’s what made it feel more ‘at home’ to me.”
Even though none of his sixth grade students could say they had been part of the “Mr. Gibbs experience” at the elementary level, it was nice to know many of those who had been were not far away.
“It’s kind of like a parent who teaches and has their kids in the building but is not teaching them,” he said. “When they get to see them they know that they’re there and they’re being taken care of.”
I did, in fact, wholeheartedly believe this to be true when I learned Mr. Gibbs was just steps away from where I was each and every day.
When he continued his accurate summation of my feelings then with the comment of, “they always knew they had an advocate,” some words he previously mentioned began to echo at a loud volume.
“It was hard. It was a hard transition.”
Though I knew I had an advocate in Mr. Gibbs, I was completely unaware of how he may have needed one even more than any of his former students. My brief interactions with him were limited to the same wave and smile that I had grown accustomed to in fifth grade. Considering my heightened ego in that period, he and I could have spoken every second of the day and I probably would have still failed to recognize his complications. Giving my twelve-year-old self some grace, though, it was never my place to do anything but smile and wave at my former teacher. I was taking a specific path with room for only one lane tailored for a few of my friends. Their names? Me, myself, and I.
The path of Mr. Eddie Gibbs may have been a bit closer to me than the previous year, but it could not have been more different from mine. His was one with an endless row of lanes, each with a long line of the concerns and circumstances that were not even his own. This responsibility was upheld to the utmost care and courage and, it turns out, would only increase in importance each and every year.
He reflected on the timely nature of this by saying, “When I first started teaching, it was important that children could read and do math. It didn’t matter how you did it, but you had to know how to do reading and math. Today that is still important, but now because of COVID, because of lack of preparation, I find that kid needs are bigger on social/emotional growth and social/emotional needs.”
Educators in this day and age are not only tasked with constructing the foundation for their young students, they are also expected to repair those that have been broken by some of the most complicated opposing forces in life.
Mr. Gibbs provided an inside look into this daunting, near impossible task by explaining, “I’m far more a mental health advisor, and that is not what my profession is, but I have to temper things with kids now because it’s not unusual to run into kids that think about suicide or don’t have enough to eat or don’t have parents or any of the myriad of things that you only dealt with at the upper high school and community college/college age level. Now you have seven-year-olds that are coming to school with an anxiety diagnosis or a depression diagnosis.”
At a point in time where such drastic measures were needed in the classroom, Mr. Eddie Gibbs made his transition out of it. He found himself back in the elementary school level, where his heart never left, but in a much different, wide-reaching capacity. Accepting an assistant principal role, he was faced with a completely new era in the world at large. Naturally, these shifts have no choice but to bleed into the learning environments of our students. Associated with them are increased responsibilities all teachers must reckon with in this new era of education. With his new position as an administrator, the task given to Mr. Gibbs went beyond a single classroom of students. They suddenly extended to an entire school of them!
Having spent so much of his career in a classroom, specifically one at the elementary level, it is not hard for Mr. Gibbs to consider the impact these changes have had on teachers. Just as important, he was not far removed from being one himself and even took notice of a tide beginning to turn in those latter years. This allowed Mr. Gibbs to put himself back in that familiar spot and take the new abnormalities into account. When asked how his teaching style would have adjusted in response to them, I could tell the thought was not new to him.
He shared it by saying, “I’m sure that I would, to some degree, change the way I taught, in that I have to understand that kids do have struggles. However, I cannot see myself not being the same teacher that I always was.”
While respecting the societal duty to pivot and adapt, Mr. Gibbs still managed to stake a claim in the foundation on which his entire teaching structure was built.
He continued, “I might give you a little extra dose of love in the morning or temper the way I said things or think about the way I said things, but I still would require those kids who were depressed to do their homework and to do their assignments because the only thing that’s going to make your life better is getting through school and becoming that person you want to be. So yes, depression is an awful thing and I need to be aware of that, but if you leave school just feeling good about yourself and you haven’t learned anything along the way, then I’ve really not helped you.”
Equity in education is all about opportunity. Keeping students from perhaps the greatest one of all is withholding them from a full educational experience. Receiving an accurate assessment of their own standing as both a student and human being is a duty Mr. Gibbs would never surrender.
He recalled, “My momma always said ‘the truth isn’t always pretty, but the truth is still the truth and you need to hear it sometimes.’ I do that with kids all the time. Let’s get down to what the truth of the matter is. Let’s talk about what really happened here. When kids can identify the truth, then they can find it in themselves to be better than they were. If you hide behind the truth too much it gives you an excuse not to be your best self.”
When it comes to excuses, there are certain uncontrollable circumstances in life that seem to arise out of nowhere. They are prone to give human beings, no matter what age, every reason to wallow in disparaging defeat. Mr. Eddie Gibbs, thrust into a new position of wide-spanning leadership, found himself with a prime opportunity to rally his troops out of such a downtrodden place. The theme of “change” went beyond his job title and educational atmosphere. His westward relocation to Asheville, North Carolina was definitely the biggest of them all. Its mountain landscape was vastly different from the east coast shores, where Mr. Gibbs spent most of his life and daily working efforts. A few years into any new season of life, the period of adjustment typically passes. It is usually expected to transition into one of familiarity toward a new environment. In Mr. Gibbs’ case, this timeline took a harsh turn as the period of “familiarity” was interrupted by an all too familiar threat with the potential to impact many beyond just himself.
Living on the coast, it is a part of life to experience the increased possibility of tropical storms occurring in a specific time frame each year. They call it “hurricane season” for a reason. The same goes for other regionally-prone natural threats, such as midwestern states and their relationship with tornadoes. North Carolina itself is regionally diverse in its weather climate. Well over five hundred miles of territory is covered between the state’s east coast beaches to its western mountain ranges. Binding what can seem like two separate worlds in one single state is the shared feeling of vulnerability toward circumstances beyond human control. When it comes to the weather, this shared experience is usually off the table, but what occurred in September of 2024 was something nobody could have ever anticipated or thought to be true.
Mr. Gibbs remembered Hurricane Helene and was able to look beyond his own standing in the storm’s aftermath, “I didn’t have damage and my school did not have damage, however, a lot of my families did and I had a teacher whose house just floated away. Completely gone.”
Such devastation for a population who had little experience with the specificities of a hurricane's violent impact, was all the more impactful in producing a state of pure shock and dismay.
Mr. Gibbs remembered, “I went back to school after a month away, expecting children to be traumatized, and they did bring with them some degree of trauma, but those children were resilient. They wanted to be back home at school where they belonged.”
While his own personal history with hurricane events did not waive him from the same fears and concerns as those around him, it did offer a unique perspective. Mr. Gibbs was quick to realize how it could make a difference for those in his orbit. Many bridges were built from one side of North Carolina to the other in the Hurricane Helene recovery efforts. The powerful sense of empathy from the eastern region was a key element in building them and Mr. Gibbs saw the perfect opportunity to construct one of his own.
“I reached out to people on the Outer Banks and they sent trailer loads of stuff to my school,” said Mr. Gibbs. “I’ve never felt more honored to be a citizen of two parts of a state before. Because my people from there, who knew what it was like to lose everything, they stepped up for my people here. It was such an honor for me to be able to see that and be part of that.”
The outreach’s resulting impact on those he lived around and worked with left him in a reflective state of mind, which he expressed by saying, “I was put here. I believe that there was a reason I was here. I do believe that.”
The forces of destiny are only as great as the surrounding resources. They may lead us to where we are supposed to be, yet it does not mean we are magically equipped to promote and provoke our goals into fruition. An educator’s powerful calling is first presented as a harmonious sound. Its angelic tone perfectly aligns their dreams and aspirations to make an impact on the lives of many young people. Yet even before any one of those students can get their names posted on a classroom desk, the rude awakening of the profession’s less-refined sound can forcefully enter the picture. Suddenly becoming the soundtrack of a teacher’s daily life, every ounce of optimism is replaced by a cynical view of the contrasting forces that make their jobs increasingly difficult. This, of course, is the worst case scenario for a teacher’s actual experience, even though there can be some hints of truth in the summation. According to Mr. Gibbs, it is far from the true nature of the job, which he holds onto tightly and close to his heart.
“I feel like it doesn’t take a lot to give kids the experiences that they deserve,” he replied when asked about a teacher’s limited resources.
Mr. Gibbs then offered something far greater than anything found on a school supply list, “You just have to be a special person that truly cares about children and cares about their success. I see that everyday. I see teachers doing stuff everyday that just makes me so excited.”
The daily evidence of great work translates into a sense of reliability for those who have been given the all-important keys to a child’s future.
Expressing these sentiments, Mr. Gibbs set his sights ahead to the future, “I have a lot of hope for this profession. It’s going to be left in good hands. Every new teacher has to learn their way. They have to find their way and have their struggle year first. After the struggle years you get better at it.”
Still with so much left to give, there are still many factors to motivate Mr. Eddie Gibbs to get up each day and do so, even at a point when he does not necessarily have to.
“Everyday is different,” he said, “I think that’s what excites me about education because I never know what to expect. I know what I want to happen. I want all kids to come to school happy to learn, full of food, bookbags, homework, and all the things. It never works out that way and I think that, in truth, this is my thirty-seventh, thirty-eighth year of doing this, I think that’s what keeps me going. Everyday is different and I get to expand my brain and I get to love kids everyday.”
I am quite certain, and can say with full confidence, that those kids love him right back.
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