To Do or To Be

Once there was a man named Nathan. He wanted very much to be a teacher. So he sought the advice of the wisest, most highly-respected counsellor in the land.

"Wise counsellor, it has always been my dream to be a teacher," Nathan said. "I want to stimulate the minds of the young. I want to lead them down the road of knowledge. Please tell me the secret to becoming a teacher."

"Your goal is commendable, Nathan. However, it is very difficult to achieve. First, you must overcome three major obstacles."

"I am ready to meet the challenge," answered Nathan bravely.

"First you must swim the Sea of Children," directed the all-knowing counsellor.

Nathan set off to swim the Sea of Children. First, he had to learn their 38 names. Then he sent the line-cutters to the end of the line. He commanded the name-callers, the pushers and the punchers to apologise to their victims. He gave candy to those who finished assignments and stars to those who sat quietly in their seats.

Nathan checked passes to see how many children were in the bathroom and tracked down students who were gone longer than necessary. He arranged the desks in small groups of four. He lined his children up for physical education, music, library and lunch. Then he stifled a cry when the secretary came into the room with child number 39.

Tired and shaken but still undefeated, the young man returned to the counsellor for his second task.

"You are very determined lad," said the wise one. "However, now you must climb the Mountain of Paperwork."

Nathan set out at once. He wrote objectives and drew up lesson plans, made out report cards and graded papers. He filled out accident, attendance and withdrawal reports. He completed inventories, evaluations, surveys and request forms.

Finally, he made dittos and more dittos. He ran them off until he was purple in the face. But his resolve never wavered and he went back for his third task.

"You are indeed very strong, Nathan. But this final task will take all the courage you can muster. You must now cross the Country of Duties and Committees."

At first, Nathan was hesitant. But his conviction remained steadfast, so he began his long journey. He took lunch, bus and recess duty. He was on the social committee, patrol committee, and the faculty advisory committee. He was the adult supervisor of the student council and ran the United Fund and Easter Seal drives.

He went to PTA meetings, school site meetings, and in-service workshops. He organised bicentennial programmes, talent shows and book drives. Finally, he was elected the building representative of the union.

At last, he reached the outskirts of Duties and Committees. Exhausted but happy, he returned to the counsellor.

"I swam the Sea of Children, climbed the Mountain of Paperwork, and crossed the Country of Duties and Committees," Nathan proclaimed. "Am I not worthy of the title of Teacher?"

"Why, Nathan," began the counsellor, "you have been one all along."

The young man protested: "But I have not stimulate any minds! I have not guided anyone down the road to knowledge! I have not had any time to teach!"

"Oh, did you just say you want to teach? I thought you wanted to be a teacher. That's completely different story!"

From Starmag

:: Ash Greig's 10 Steps to Being a Good Educator ::

I have just completed my first semester as an English Language lecturer in Sunway University. Only a little over two months, but I've learnt so much already. This is my first time being in the shoes of an educator, and not a student in academia - took me quite a while to get adjusted. I had been extremely lucky because the students I taught had been a wonderful bunch. They were the main reason why I looked forward to waking up each morning and going to work.

I'm not saying that everything had been hunky-dory. There were ups and downs - problematic students and telling-offs to fun lunch and dinner sessions. I'm not perfect either - there had been times I screwed up and made a mess of things. I certainly do not have a lot of experience doing this (although I'm planning to stay on for a long, long time to come), but I've learnt enough to somewhat know how things work. It's not about being the most popular or friendliest lecturer around - it's all about how you leave an impact on a student's life, and how he/she will remember you for years to come.

So here it is, my 10 Steps to Being a Good Educator.

Step 1: Gain respect the right way. A lot of educators demand respect from their students. All they get is forced (fake) respect and sometimes fear, perhaps even hatred. Some lecturers earn respect from their students. What do they get? Respect and love, even going as far as friendship. :)

Step 2: Loosen up and have a little fun. Being a teacher/lecturer isn't just about how much knowledge you can impart to your students through countless exercises and homework. It's also about knowing when to crack jokes and letting them know that knowledge doesn't just come from textbooks, but through life experiences. :)

Step 3: Be a friend. If he doesn't have anyone to talk to about his family problems, or if she has no one to turn to for advice on boys, be there for him/her. Give them a hug, let them cry in your arms. Hold their hands and tell them that no matter what, you'll be there for them. Sometimes that little bit of assurance is all that's enough to make a big difference. :)

Step 4: Be confident. Even if you've no idea what you're doing, stand tall and be sure of yourself. :)

Step 5: Be someone they can look up to. Teach them to be considerate human beings through your actions, not words. :)

Step 6: Open up. It's okay to let them in a little. So you had fun attending Justin Bieber's concert the weekend before, or if you're feeling a little down because you just had a fight with your best friend - open up and talk about it. Trying to show them that you're invincible/emotionless isn't going to help in strengthening bonds. :)

Step 7: Explain, not insist. They have their mothers to tell them what they should or shouldn't be doing. As an educator, lay out options and let them make their own choices/decisions. Treat them like adults, not children. :)

Step 8: Practice patience. Perhaps some of them aren't very good in expressing themselves. Take the time to listen to them. Inspire and motivate them to go on, and get better with time. :)

Step 9: Look at things from their point of view. So you've been a little too strict with the marking - listen to them when they come to you and lament. Stand in their shoes and try to understand where they're coming from. We all make hasty judgments sometimes. The important thing is to admit it and make amends. :)

Step 10: Lay down the ground rules from the very beginning. Make sure they know how much they can push you, and not overstep the boundaries while they're at it. :)

~Ash Greig

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From the Mouth of a Babe

A primary schoolteacher asked her students to write an essay about what they would like God to do for them. At the end of the day, while marking the essays, one made her very emotional.

Her husband, who had just walked in, saw her crying and asked, "What happened?"

"Read this. It's by one of my students."

"Oh God, tonight I ask you for something very special: Turn me into a television set. I want to take its place. Have my own special place in the house. And have my family around ME.


"I want to be taken seriously when I talk, to be the centre of attention and be heard without interruptions or questions. I want to receive the same special care that the TV gets when it is not working. Have the company of my dad when he comes home from work, even when he is tired.


"And I want my mum to want me when she is sad and upset, instead of ignoring me. I want my brothers to fight to be with me... I want to feel that the family will leave everything aside, every now and then, just to spend some time with me.


"And last, but not least, make it that I can make them all happy and entertain them. God, I don't ask you for much... I just want to live like every TV."


At that, the man cried: "Poor kid. What horrible parents!"

The teacher looked up and said, "That essay is our son's!"

From Starmag, 30th May 2010

The Empty Egg

Jeremy Forrester was born with a twisted body and a slow mind. At the age of 12 he was still in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with hi,. He would squirm in his seat, drool, and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain.

Most of the time, however, Jeremy just irritated his teacher. One day she called his parents and asked them to come in for a consultation.

As the Forresters entered the empty classroom, Miller said to them: "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students."

Mrs Forrester cried softly into a tissue, while her husband spoke.

"Miss Miller, there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here."

Miller sat for a long time after they had left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathise with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write.

Why waste any more time trying? As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. Here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared to that poor family's, she thought. Lord, please help me to be more patient with Jeremy.

From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. Then one day, he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him.

"I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole class to hear. The other students snickered, and Miller's face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-why that's very nice, Jeremy. N-now please take your seat."

Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Miller told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasise the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of them a large plastic egg.

"Now, I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Miller," the children responded enthusiastically - all except for Jeremy. He listened intently: his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment?

Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.

That evening, Miller's kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to show for groceries, iron a blouse, and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.

The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on her desk. After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Miller found a flower.

"Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground, we know that spring is here."

A small girl in the first row waved her arm. "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out.

The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Miller held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that's new life, too."

Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine."

Next, Miller found a rock with moss on it. She explained that moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom, "My daddy helped my," he beamed.

Then Miller opened the fourth egg. She gasped: it was empty. Surely it must be Jeremy's, she thought. Of course he had not understood her instructions. If only she hadn't forgotten to phone his parents... As she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another.

Suddenly, Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Miller replied: "But Jeremy, your egg is empty."

He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty, too." Tome stopped. When she could speak again, Miller asked him: "Do you know why the tomb is empty?"

"Oh, yes," Jeremy said, "Jesus was killed and put int here. Then His Father raised Him up."

The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Miller cried. The cold inside her melted completely away.

Three months later, Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty.

Sent to Starmag by Sharon Jarjan

What the Teachers Make?‏

The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life. One man, a CEO, decided to explain the problem with education.

He argued: "What's a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"

He reminded the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about teachers: "Those who can...do. Those who can't...teach."

To corroborate, he said to another guest: "You're a teacher, Susan," he said. "Be honest. What do you make?"

Susan, who had a reputation of honesty and frankness, replied, "You want to know what I make?"

"I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could."

"I make kids believe in themselves when no one else will."

"I make a C+ feel like a Congressional Medal of Honor and an A- feel like a slap in the face if the student did not do his or her very best."

"I make parents tremble in fear when I call home"

"You want to know what I make?

"I make kids wonder."

"I make them question."

"I make them criticize."

"I make them apologize and mean it."

"I make them write."

"I make them read, read, read."

"I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, and definitely beautiful over and over and over again, until they will never misspell either one of those words again."

"I make them show all their work in math and hide it all on their final drafts in English."

"I make them understand that if you have a dream, then follow it...and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make or what you do, you pay them no attention."

"You want to know what I make?! I make a difference. What about you?"

The Teddy

As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth.

Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant.

It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... He is a joy to be around.."

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest, and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's.

His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume . But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."

After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy.

As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her "teacher's pets.."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.... The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.

The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married.

He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs.Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."

Child Prodigy

At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines, Iowa. I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons - something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a prodigy though I have taught some talented students.

However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged" pupils. One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old whem his mother (a single Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby.

But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dreams to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought is was a hopeless endeavour. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn.

Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lessons he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play someday." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in.

Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him but assumed because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and bacause he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mother had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing "Miss Hondorf I've just got to play!" he insisted.

I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come up at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer".

Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Teh Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?"

Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo. From allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent!

Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age. After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause.

Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it?" Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Hondorf. Remember I told you my Mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And well...She was born deaf so tonight was the fisrt time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special."

There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.

No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I had become a prodigy...Of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil for it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.

Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was reportedly ... playing the piano.

taken from my mailbox
9th March 2008