MY MATH TEACHER - Mancho Nenchev

MY MATH TEACHER - MANCHO NENCHEV

Everyone has a favorite teacher from High School -- the one, who deserves credit, or be blamed for the human/math being I have become; the one who was simply the BEST. 

Everyone wants to believe (at least I do) that it is my unique math aptitude, which served as a premise for his encouragement and motivational words. 

It has been many and many years since I was in High School.... I suffered from a brain infection, which left me with seizures. But, no matter how much brain is in my head, there is still a reserved space for the teacher from whom I learned the most. It is not just maths he taught. Mancho Nenchev was bigger than maths. In fact, the math lessons are gone, I do not remember much; sadly, Mancho passed away several years ago, too. But he left behind the Art of Teaching. 

I will not call him Mr. Nenchev, he will not forgive me this grandiose language, he will always remain in my heart as бай Маньо (in Bulgarian.) 

As if it was yesterday, I see him walking between the rows of desks talking to us and sometimes singing. You must really enjoy what you do to sing in class. I was so fortunate; the song he loved the most was bearing my name. As one classmate put it recently, the song "Imala Mariana" was "the hallmark song of his, with you in it." This song was very popular at the time; it was performed by one of the most famous singers; it had some jingle rhythm. "Imala Mariana" is a happy, jovile song.

In the song, Mariana had a big, good heart and a hat with a feather. While walking through the little town, she met a boy. They said "hi" to each other. The boy asked if she would give him the feather, but Mariana started laughing. She laughed so hard that her hat fell. Then, she "negotiated" to give the boy the feather, but get his heart in exchange. And the boy surrendered. He gave her his heart. 

This is a free translation. All you -- teachers and poets, please let me have this song my way. Afterall, the song has my name on it.

By the end of the song, the math problems were solved; the new lesson was taught. Everything was smooth and easy-going.

I visited Bulgaria 4 years ago. It was my birthday. The family had decided to celebrate it in a nice folk restaurant with live music, folk dances and fantastic food. When the singer came to our table to ask me what song I would like her to sing for me, I answered right away "Imala Mariana." But, she wanted to play another birthday song, more appropriate for today's times.

I was disappointed. It felt like my time had passed away. "Imala Mariana", with бай Маньо singing it, had passed away, too. 

What is left is the BIG heart of a BIG Teacher. It will beat with his students' hearts. Chi-chi-chi-la-la-la....

Blog disclaimer: The content of the blog post is based on current interpretation of events, which may have occurred in the past. What I write on my blog is not to be taken as fact nor absolute. No harm intended.

COMING TO AMERICA (part 2)

Picture by Frank Bryan

 COMING TO AMERICA (part 2)

Coming to America cannot be a blog running in an orderly fashion. My intent is not to write a memoir -- chapter by chapter. I may do it at a later stage of my life.

In 1993, there were no precedents to follow; there were no books for dummies. Meeting a Bulgarian at school in Washington, D.C.? Even if this were to happen, I do not remember help coming in bulk. 

In this bubble of the unknown there was a flash light - THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

All of us three, were speaking the language. This allowed me to write a resume,  although I did not know that certain things were not such big accomplishments in USA. Having been in France for an internship did not translate into a gigantic level of IQ. It probably distracted the admission officers and made them think about a trip to Paris, wine, nice food, but academic success? Translating what corresponds to 'research assistant' into 'scientist' wasn't correct either. Having a Bachelor's degree from a communist university does not equate to business acumen in 1993, [but it did not hurt, I thought]. 

The hard days of babysitting, crying  from exhaustion and worrying what tomorrow will bring -- non of this did speak about my ability to be a good student, ready to be successful in a business graduate program. The good score on GMAT was a surprise. My math teacher from the English Language School in Bulgaria (God bless his big heart) would have been proud of it. Almost perfect. The English was not bad either. Having the resume typed by my ex-husband at his university, he and and I circled all universities in the Washington, D.C. area. Maybe, a few universities were skipped....They looked like castles; the air did not smell like they need a "Bulgarian immigrant." There was no such thing as a "Bulgarian immigrant."

The one who went to school a few days after "COMING TO AMERICA" was my daughter. Someone said to her at the place we stayed, "Are you playing hooky from school?" That was a signal for both parents to realize her school SHOULD be on the list right away. And IT WAS. With her weird clothes, funky accent, not popular style hair, not popular anything, she never missed a day of school. She was clean, combed, did her homework every day, BUT that was not enough. She never saw a birthday party; she was never invited to one. There was no time for a walk on the Mall....

I have to say again what is already in my published book "Seize the Seizures" : SHE was ready. The kids were not. The parents were not ready either.


To be continued....