|
? It was very late in the summer of 1970. I was a new teacher
with a secondary science degree, desperate for a job. A
parochial school in a small town of 1,300 people urgently
needed an elementary teacher for geography, math and some
science. It wasn't an exact match, but I got the job.
Needing an inexpensive place to stay, I rented a room from
an eighty-seven-year-old woman, whose eccentric
sister-in-law lived in the basement. If I admired something
that Miss Florence-in-the-basement owned, she said, "You
like it? I'll write your name on it, and you can have it
when I die."
? I didn't fit in with the other young lay teachers who,
unfortunately, were into the party scene. My closest friend
during those school days was a 60-year-old nun who taught
remedial reading. That gives you an idea of what my social
life was like.
In days before school started, I put potted plants on all of
the window sills. On my first day of teaching, Leslie, a
fourth grader who was sitting near the window, pulled plants
out of the pots. After I moved him to a different seat, he
proceeded to spread his entire bottle of glue over his desk
and then dusted chalk from an eraser into it. And that was
just the first morning. It was an ominous sign of things to
come.
I found that I spent eighty-five per cent of my energy
disciplining and fifteen per cent imparting knowledge. Of
course I had some wonderful, serious students, but others
worked hard to push the limits.
At night I went home exhausted, often near tears. I felt
lonely, missing my friends back in the city.
Lord, why am I here? I wondered. Whatever gave me
the idea I wanted to teach? ?
And then there was Matthew.
? ? ? ?
A fourth grader, Matthew had terrible spelling and almost
illegible handwriting. He was getting poor grades in most of
his classes and was failing math. The other teachers labeled
him "low ability." But in my geography class he studied hard
and always got A's.
? ? ? ?
After school Matthew would come into my classroom to dust
erasers or empty the wastepaper basket, while I was
correcting papers and straightening the classroom for the
next day.
? ? ? ?
"Why do you come in to visit me?" I asked him one night.
? ? ? ?
"Because at home there are too many kids, and no one listens
to me," was his reply. As I got to know him, I understood
his situation. His father had four or five children and then
remarried after his wife died. Matthew was near the middle
of a second family of six.
At times Matthew told me about his philosophy of life, his
family, and his view of God. His chatter was like sunshine
on a cloudy day.
? ? ? ?
? One time when he came to see me, he said, "Miss Ausmus, the
kids are saying that you and Mr. D. like each other."
? ? ? ?
"Matthew, Mr. D. is a nice man and we both teach some of the
same students. We talk to each other about teaching. He is
not my boyfriend, and it's not something the
children should be talking about anyway."
Thinking a minute, he said, "How do people keep from having
babies?"
I was tacking Christmas decorations up on a corkboard and
almost fell off my chair.
"Uh. . . Matthew, I think the wastebasket needs to be
emptied. Could you do that for me please?"
Another time he said, "Will you wait for me so I can marry
you when I grow up?"
? ? ? ?
"Sorry, Matthew, but that won't work," I responded
sympathetically. "I'm fourteen years older than you are now,
and I will still be fourteen years older when you are
grown." ? Oh, the logic of a nine year old.
? ? ? ?
When my birthday arrived, his mother made me a cake. She
delivered it after school, and as he was carrying it up the
steps, he tripped, dropping the cake. I found him in tears,
covered with white fluffy frosting.
I assured him that bringing me a cake was very, very
special, whether I was able to eat it or not.
So instead of making another cake, his mother invited me to
their home for a meal and I got to know his delightful
family. ?
After my second year of teaching, it was time to move on. I
said "good-bye" to Matthew and his family. I then invited
him and his younger brother to a Bible camp where I was
counseling that summer. I later heard that both of the boys
accepted Jesus as their Savior.
Years passed and in1992, I went back to the little town to
visit. Not much had changed in the twenty years I had been
gone. Matthew's parents still lived in the same house.
His mother greeted me warmly. ? I had taught two of her
children and knew the others, so she pulled out all of their
wedding photos.
Matthew had graduated from college, married and was working
at a good job.
"Janet," she said, "Thanks for all the time you took
encouraging Matthew. You taught him to believe in himself.
You are the reason he went to college."
Those words both surprised and gratified me.
I had made a difference in the life of a young boy. But I
wonder . . . did Matthew ever know the difference he made in
mine?
?© Janet Seever 2004 ? ? jseever1@shaw.ca
*******************************************************************
Living in Calgary, Alberta, with her husband and two adult
children, Janet Seever writes for Word Alive
magazine. She has had a variety of articles and short
stories published in magazines and on Internet. You can find
more of Janet's writing at www.inscribe.org/janetseever
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
May you be blessed today.
Bob Johnston
Editor / Publisher
|
