When I think of teachers I see them in two categories. One being the obvious: parent, professor, sibling – etc.
The second – those who have hurt us into knowing better.
For instance, all the men I’ve known who didn’t treat me very well made me a much nicer woman to their successors. I know now never to be mean to someone I profess to love, like or respect.
The occasional rude service person whose voice sounds like nails on a blackboard has prompted me to be more courteous regardless to whomever I’m speaking to. That harsh tone animals cower from I’ve gratefully learned to abandon (unless you call me names that is).
My neighbors, who don’t care too much that their smoking has compromised my home life, make me more conscious of my behavior toward them. Teaching by kind example has more of a chance of resonating than rampant revenge.
There is always an upside to a bad experience. Trouble is, people usually out of hurt and anger end up emulating the same behavior that wounded them in the first place.
I knew a woman whose mother abused her terribly. Instead of choosing kindness knowing how abuse feels she opted to be meaner than her mother. That was the lesson she chose to learn; a shame when you think the cruelty continues.
Another lady I know had a similar story but opted oppositely. She was probably the sweetest person I knew till she died 5 years ago. You’d walk into her hospital room and she’d say, “So how are you? How pretty you look, “as if you dropped in for tea rather than a last goodbye. She treated others well because she knew the pain of unkindness too well.
Leaving behind a trail of goodness is a mighty impressive legacy. Much more than a name etched on a hospital facade.
When I apply this to myself the tale that comes foremost to mind is my dyslexia. It made me slow as a kid in the sense where I frequently was forced to do things twice, the result of reversing everything – numbers, letters.
I had two teachers – one in grammar school who called me stupid and another in high school who patiently helped me be more patient with myself.
Teacher number one left a mark on me that has remained indelible; how could it not? Calling someone stupid is the worst thing you can say to anyone. The second lady taught me to respect not only my own limitations but those of others.
I’m the one at the post office, for example, who gets out of line to help someone fill out a form when I see them struggling with language. I notice it right away, that fear of asking for assistance. Someone might say something cutting that could set them back 10 years.
I’m often told how kind I am in this area but it’s really because of teacher number one who made me cry and not want to raise my hand because I thought there was something wrong with me. I owe that woman; her off the cuff cruelty made me a much more compassionate person.
Hey, am I stupid? Silly,a tad crazy maybe but I’m far from dumb so thank you Mr. Kennelly
The teachers in our life, who are they?
Not always the obvious.
SB
