I am a very common person. I once dreamed of reaching soaring heights but never really did anything to get to such a place. I have lived my life quietly for the most part, spending most of adulthood teaching young people whom I sometimes reached and others who found me to be a bore. I dreamed of writing the great American novel but never came up with an idea worthy of enchanting readers. I spend my days describing my very normal life which in truth is rather extraordinary because in all of my seventy six years on the earth nobody has ever truly hurt me.
I seen horrors in the lives of some of my students and have only been able to imagine how horrific being them must have been. There was the young boy whose mother once attempted to set him on fire. She was only minimally successful and so from a physical standpoint there was little evidence of the injury she imposed on him. It was in his mind, his mental health that he suffered great pain. That damage came out now and again in dangerous behaviors that threatened his well being and sometimes even that of those around him. I have never been able to forget this child because there was a glorious spark hiding underneath the scars that made him wonder if anyone would ever truly love him.
I think of the little girl whose mother shaved off the glorious curls that made her so beautiful simply because she came home with a case of cooties. Even with her bald head and ill-fitting wig she was still incredibly beautiful. Her blue eyes twinkled and her forgiving smile told me that she was not willing to believe that her mother’s behavior was cruel or in any way wrong.
I wonder what happened to the child who lived in a car behind the local funeral home with her family. Somehow she thrived in spite of the incredible challenges that she faced from day to day. She always completed her homework due to the generosity of the man who ran the funeral home. He let her sit inside to do her lessons. He told her to feel free to clean herself in the bathroom and if patrons brought in food and left some behind he gave it to the girl and her family. Each day the sweet child brought me a fresh bouquet of flowers that she plucked from wreaths thrown away after the funeral services. Not once did she complain. In fact she was grateful for the goodwill of the people at the funeral home and smiled with confidence that her family would soon be back on its feet.
I can never forget the girl whose face was scarred from a fire. She looked like a character in a horror movie until I got to know her. Somehow her smile and her lovely outlook on life transformed her appearance and all that I saw was her beautiful soul.
I wonder where the boy is whose life was changed by an opportunity to take part in a summer math and science program. He was a special needs student who was rather notorious for his bad behavior but he succeeded in mathematics so much so that he was a model student in my class. When I announced that one student from the school would be chosen for a summer program he immediately asked for an application and wrote the required essay with such heart that he was chosen by the college. Everyone else at the school was appalled that he would be representing us but I knew when I read his essay that he would win. Unfortunately he had no way to get to the school each day so for the entire summer I drove him there and then picked him up. He was so involved that they invited him back every single year until he was about to graduate from high school. That is when he told me how glorious it had felt when people treated him as though he was smart and one of them. It never occurred to him that he was indeed very bright and that is why he had fit in so well.
I have story after story of young people who did not enjoy the good fortune that was always mine. Yes, I lost my father at a very young age but my extended family and the community where I lived stepped in to make up for that loss. We did not have much extra money but the love that I always felt from my mother made up for any material things that we lacked. I always felt safe and loved. Nobody ever hurt me like I had seen with hundreds of students who passed my way. Their stories haunted me then and still do to this day.
Most of the young people that I have taught would now be in their forties and fifties and heading toward their sixties as I head toward my eighties. The ones who have kept in touch are doing quite well but I often find myself wondering about those with whom I lost touch. I would like to think that they all found happiness and good lives and that somehow they understood how much I cared about them. Mine was an ordinary life with extraordinary opportunities to make a difference for someone else. My greatest hope is that I truly did.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 