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You Are a
Marvel! Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe, a moment that will never be again . . And what do we teach our children? We teach them that two and two make four, and that Paris is the capital of France. When will we also teach them what they are? We should say to each of them: Do you know what you are? You are a marvel. You are unique. In all the years that have passed, there has never been another child like you. Your legs, your arms, your clever fingers, the way you move. You may become a Shakespeare, a Michaelangelo, a Beethoven. You have the capacity for anything. yes, you are a marvel. And when you grow up, can you then harm another who is, like you, a marvel? You must work - we must all work - to make the world worthy of its children. An Education in
Love A college professor had his sociology class go into the Baltimore slums to get case histories of 200 young boys. They were asked to write an evaluation of each boy's future. In every case the students wrote, "He hasn't got a chance." Twenty-five years later another sociology professor came across the earlier study. He had his students follow up on the project to see what had happened to these boys. With the exception of 20 boys who had moved away or died, the students learned that 176 of the remaining 180 had achieved more than ordinary success as lawyers, doctors and businessmen. The professor was astounded and decided to pursue the matter further. Fortunately, all the men were in the area and he was able to ask each one, "How do you account for your success?" In each case the reply came with feeling, "There was a teacher." The teacher was still alive, so he sought her out and asked the old but still alert lady what magic formula she had used to pull these boys out of the slums into successful achievement. The teacher's eyes sparkled and her lips broke into a gentle smile. "It's really very simple," she said. "I loved those boys." In Praise of
Teachers In 1972, I returned to Miami Beach High School to speak to the drama class. Afterward I asked the drama teacher if any of my English teachers are still there. Irene Roberts, he tells me, is in the class just down the hall. I was no one special in Miss Roberts' class - just another jock who did okay work. I don't recall any one special bit of wisdom she passed on. Yet I cannot forget her respect for language, for ideas and for her students. I realize now, many years later, that she is the quintessential selfless teacher. I'd like to say something to her, I say, but I don't want to pull her from a class. Nonsense, he says, she'll be delighted to see you. The drama teacher brings Miss Roberts into the hallway where stands this 32-year-old man she last saw at 18. "I'm Mark Medoff," I tell her. "You were my 12th-grade English teacher in 1958." She cocks her head at me, as if this angle might conjure me in her memory. And then, though armed with a message I want to deliver in some perfect torrent of words, I can't think up anything more memorable than this: "I want you to know," I say, "you were important to me." And there in the hallway, this slight and lovely woman, now nearing retirement age, this teacher who doesn't remember me, begins to weep; and she encircles me in her arms. Remembering this moment, I begin to sense that everything I will ever know, everything I will ever pass to my students, to my children, is an inseparable part of an ongoing legacy of our shared wonder and eternal hope that we can, must, make ourselves better. Irene Roberts holds me briefly in her arms and through her tears whispers against my cheek, "Thank you." And then, with the briefest of looks into my forgotten face, she disappears back into her classroom, returns to what she has done thousands of days through all the years of my absence. On reflection, maybe those were, after all, just the right words to say to Irene Roberts. Maybe they are the very words I would like to speak to all those teachers I carry through my life as part of me, the very words I would like spoken to me one day by some returning student: "I want you to know you were important to me." We need articles, poetry and
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