This portrait was a letter written in December 2007 recommending Dr. Sara Solberg for the Princeton University Distinguished Secondary School Teaching Award. She won the award in June 2008.
Always the winter brings me discontent. It gets dark too early and my super-protective mother will have a heart attack if I’m not home by the very early hour of four (school dismisses at 3:15). This caused a huge problem my sophomore year when I joined Academic Decathlon, run by the Dr. Solberg. Since Decathlon ended at 4:30, my mom told me to quit so I could come home earlier. But Dr. Solberg, champion of learning and knowledge, promised that she would drive me home after every meeting. So I stayed in.
Every Monday Dr. Solberg and I would go home in her incredibly bumper-stickered car (most of the stickers aren’t even on the bumper; she ran out of room and started using the car’s actual body) and we talked. I was angry about the arrangement at first because I felt it was unnecessary. Ironically, the time I would spend sharing opinions, knowledge, and laughs with Dr. Solberg would become necessary in making me who I am today. I am not the only life Dr. Solberg has touched, but just the same, she is very important to me. After all, how often do you meet an legitimately remarkable woman?
Very early in the morning, I sit in the third floor hallway outside her classroom. She arrives carrying two fully-loaded bags (or more) and appreciates when I open the door for her, but insists she can carry the bags herself. As she sets them on a desk, I follow her into her room.
It’s amazing what you can learn about someone from their ceiling. Hanging from the roof tiles of 303 are mobiles of the nine muses, toys and dolls representing Richard III’s victims hung in effigy, a harpy looming over the students in the back corner by the costume rack, and a Chinese lantern I gave her. Here, learning is not only fun and interesting, but learning is life.
Dr. S believes in educating her students using all sources possible. While a textbook can be a helpful resource, no book can compare to the ultimate encyclopedia—the world. I can already see many rich resources lying about the room and I’ve only spent a few minutes in it. Some examples: the full musical score to Kiss Me Kate, her VHS collection (several Branagh productions; a lifetime’s worth of Royal Shakespeare Company material; and random footage that could prove useful, perhaps a commercial alluding to the myth of Apollo and Daphne), an OED (a necessity, in any case), and of course, Dr. Solberg herself.
I ask what she did over the weekend. She went to a Greek restaurant. I mention that my mother knows some Greek and the discussion swells until she chalks her blackboard in a map-sketching craze, attempting to draw Greece. She talks as she draws, “…And here is the Mediterranean…the Dardanelles, also called the Hellespont.” I understand the map perfectly because of her explanation, but I doubt anyone walking in would take it as anything other than what might be badly drawn macaroni and cheese. Well, no one’s good at everything. At least until Dr. Solberg learns to draw.
Okay, maybe “good at everything” is a bit of a stretch, but if someone had to be, she’s a pretty good candidate. Between my geography lesson and the actual start of the school day, many people come in to discuss matters related to her many talents. Joelle Zigman, our resident musician, pops in because she meant to compliment Dr. Solberg’s piano-playing skills when she heard her playing yesterday after school but was in a hurry to go to choir. “By the way,” Joelle asks. “Are you still donating your voice?” Dr. Solberg sings in an adult choral group but also sometimes sings tenor for our school’s choir. Dr. Solberg says that she hopes she is and she’ll talk to the choir director later.
After Joelle leaves, Dr. Solberg tells me about a performance of Richard III that she loved and says I should see it. Typical Solberg. She has this habit of getting to know her students and their interests then thrusting towards them all the related opportunities available. I tell her I really really want to go, but can’t afford the fifteen dollar ticket (it’s true, I’m poor.) I’m afraid that she’ll do what she did before; I was so embarrassed…she told me I should see Propeller’s performance of Taming of the Shrew at BAM, but I couldn’t afford even the ten dollars for student rush tickets. After begging me to try my hardest to go see it, she finally said, “I will pay for you.” I was amazed. It was only ten dollars, but it was ten dollars she didn’t have to spend on me. Dr. Solberg will go to all lengths for her students and expects them to do as she does. If you don’t do everything in your power to do your best, she’s disappointed. And she lets you know it.
Before she can even possibly offer to pay again, I decide not to disappoint her. “Well, maybe I’ll ask my father,” I say quickly. She is satisfied. I mention that my father loves musicals and that evolves into a discussion about why she’s never seen Cats and why she should.
She is showing me a British comedic sketch about Shakespeare’s word “time” when a few French students come in. She doesn’t interrupt the tape for them and they wait patiently because her wisdom is the kind you wait for without words and that you accept with heart. To pass the time, they also watch the tape and laugh, and when it’s over, they ask about their last homework assignment and her up-coming production of “Babar.”
“Babar” is a musical presentation of the original story and just one of the many projects she has pioneered. She has brought Academic Decathlon, participation in the National French Exam and M.E.D.U.S.A., and mythology (by writing the curriculum with another teacher, Miss Smith) to our school. She also coached Scholastic Bowl. Her busyness is the real song that never ends. Yes, my friends, she goes on and on and rarely stops. How she gets any sleep—we have no idea. (Actually, maybe she doesn’t.)
The French students leave, but some of the students for her first class—Shakespeare’s Major Works—begin to come in. One of them shows Dr. Solberg her project, a finely-crafted poster with Falstaff pictures and quotes. Dr. S commends the girl for her great work, but quickly shows us that she is a teacher—she teaches. “This is definitely an A, but you know what would make it A++++?” The girl says nothing and is embarrassed. “If you put captions, if you commented on each picture. What is this Falstaff doing? How is he different from this one? Is there a quote that could go with that picture? Show critical thought. Analytical thought. I’m a teacher. I want critical thought!” The girl knows Dr. Solberg’s comments are suggestions for improvement, not a tear-down. Besides, ripping children apart is no what a teacher does.
Dr. Solberg is many things and the only reason she doesn’t explode with all of that stuffed inside her is because all her talents are neatly synthesized into a teacher. Spending just one minute with her can lead to learning the performance history of Othello, how Eros and Psyche hooked up, or the etymology of the an obscure Latin word. So far, I have known her for 2,066,400 minutes, making me 2,066,400 times luckier than most, part of an elite “McNerd” group. But that will soon change. Dr. Solberg will probably teach for the rest of her life (after all, she never stops) and many more will have this wide education, too. Isn’t that great?
