My mom used to always tell me I was helpful. I wanted something different — brilliant or unique or possibly pretty. Helpful seemed like something that would wear a bonnet or sweep ashes off the hearth or murmur suggestions while remaining abashed. That was not me. When I worked in a large suburban school the secretary once suggested I wait until the men spoke before I said anything. I did not do that. I also made it a practice to protect and defend my students from anything that smacked of unfairness.

However, I was also helpful. I gave other teachers my lesson plans and resources and trained student teachers and tried to bring other creative writers to visit my English classes and help my students feel better about reading and writing. I wrote college recommendation letters and if a student needed me for more than an academic reason, I was there. My boundaries were healthy. I did not invite students to my house or let them call me at home, but my door was open, and I stayed to hear whatever they needed to tell me. I handed back their papers swiftly with notes and encouraging comments.

As a professional writer I have given information about agents, publishers and the process of submission with an open heart. I also shared the secret that a piece of writing needs to be very good to have a chance of making it from the slush pile. I have taught scores of writers techniques for improving their work and encouraged them to see the process itself as important. I have connected like-minded people with others and referred accomplished friends to possible clients.

I think my mother meant something more than helpful. She was a brilliant cook who needed someone to predict what was necessary, chopping onions, setting the table, stirring the sauce, staying quiet. I watched her and made choices about how I might make things easier for her as she created a complicated meal. I did the same with my students.

When I was evaluated by various administrators who sat in my classroom they always commented on how well I knew my students. This seemed like a no-brainer to me. How could I encourage a star basketball player to do better in his essay writing? I acknowledged his work on the court, both of us aware I had no idea what I was talking about. I was his English teacher, not his coach and as his English teacher my job was to prepare him academically, not to spend valuable classroom time pretending to understand his jump shot. He needed me for my expertise in language and literacy not as a fan. I didn’t go to games, but I took extra classes to help me do better with minority, at-risk students, and I continued to challenge myself as an intellectual by applying for grants. I also paid attention to opportunities for others, scholarships, workshops, competitions, and seminars.

I do not wear a bonnet or sweep the ashes or defer to men. I do my best and try hard to get better so my students see that their teacher cares about them and their futures. I try to be helpful.

—Molly Moynahan, author and writing coach

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