Chicken Soup for the Soul 20th Anniversary Edition (26 page)

But whose hand? The class was captivated by the abstract image. “I think it must be the hand of God that brings us food,” said one child. “A farmer,” said another, “because he grows the turkeys.” Finally when the others were at work, the teacher bent over Douglas’s desk and asked whose hand it was. “It’s your hand, Teacher,” he mumbled.

She recalled that frequently at recess she had taken Douglas, a scrubby forlorn child by the hand. She often did that with the children. But it meant so much to Douglas. Perhaps this was everyone’s Thanksgiving, not for the material things given to us but for the chance, in whatever small way, to give to others.

~Source Unknown

Don’t expect anything original from an echo.

~Author Unknown

Once a little boy went to school.

He was quite a little boy.

And it was quite a big school.

But when the little boy

Found that he could go to his room

By walking right in from the door outside,

He was happy. And the school did not seem

Quite so big any more.

One morning,

When the little boy had been in school a while,

The teacher said:

“Today we are going to make a picture.”

“Good!” thought the little boy.

He liked to make pictures.

He could make all kinds:

Lions and tigers,

Chickens and cows,

Trains and boats —

And he took out his box of crayons

And began to draw.

But the teacher said:

“Wait! It is not time to begin!”

And she waited until everyone looked ready.

“Now,” said the teacher,

“We are going to make flowers.”

“Good!” thought the little boy,

He liked to make flowers,

And he began to make beautiful ones

With his pink and orange and blue crayons.

But the teacher said,

“Wait! And I will show you how.”

And she drew a flower on the blackboard.

It was red, with a green stem.

“There,” said the teacher.

“Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s flower.

Then he looked at his own flower,

He liked his flower better than the teacher’s.

But he did not say this,

He just turned his paper over

And made a flower like the teacher’s.

It was red, with a green stem.

On another day,

When the little boy had opened

The door from the outside all by himself,

The teacher said,

“Today we are going to make something with clay.”

“Good!” thought the little boy.

He liked clay.

He could make all kinds of things with clay:

Snakes and snowmen,

Elephants and mice,

Cars and trucks —

And he began to pull and pinch

His ball of clay.

But the teacher said,

“Wait! It is not time to begin!”

And she waited until everyone looked ready.

“Now,” said the teacher,

“We are going to make a dish.”

“Good!” thought the little boy,

He liked to make dishes,

And he began to make some

That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said,

“Wait! And I will show you how.”

And she showed everyone how to make

One deep dish.

“There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish

Then he looked at his own.

He liked his dishes better than the teacher’s

But he did not say this,

He just rolled his clay into a big ball again,

And made a dish like the teacher’s.

It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon

The little boy learned to wait

And to watch,

And to make things just like the teacher.

And pretty soon

He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened

That the little boy and his family

Moved to another house,

In another city,

And the little boy

Had to go to another school.

This school was even bigger

Than the other one,

And there was no door from the outside

Into his room.

He had to go up some big steps,

And walk down a long hall

To get to his room.

And the very first day

He was there, the teacher said,

“Today we are going to make a picture.”

“Good!” thought the little boy,

And he waited for the teacher

To tell him what to do

But the teacher didn’t say anything.

She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy,

She said, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”

“Yes,” said the little boy.

“What are we going to make?”

“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.

“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.

“Why, any way you like,” said the teacher.

“And any color?” asked the little boy.

“Any color,” said the teacher,

“If everyone made the same picture,

And used the same colors,

How would I know who made what,

And which was which?”

“I don’t know,” said the little boy.

And he began to make pink and orange

and blue flowers.

He liked his new school,

Even if it didn’t have a door

Right in from the outside!

~Helen E. Buckley

Appreciation is a wonderful thing.

It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well.

~Voltaire

I am a Teacher.

I was born the first moment that a question leaped from the mouth of a child.

I have been many people in many places.

I am Socrates exciting the youth of Athens to discover new ideas through the use of questions.

I am Anne Sullivan tapping out the secrets of the universe into the outstretched hand of Helen Keller.

I am Aesop and Hans Christian Andersen revealing truth through countless stories.

I am Marva Collins fighting for every child’s right to an education.

I am Mary McCleod Bethune building a great college for my people, using orange crates for desks.

And I am Bel Kaufman struggling to go
Up the Down Staircase
.

The names of those who have practiced my profession ring like a hall of fame for humanity... Booker T. Washington, Buddha, Confucius, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Leo Buscaglia, Moses and Jesus.

I am also those whose names and faces have long been forgotten but whose lessons and character will always be remembered in the accomplishments of their students.

I have wept for joy at the weddings of former students, laughed with glee at the birth of their children and stood with head bowed in grief and confusion by graves dug too soon for bodies far too young.

Throughout the course of a day I have been called upon to be an actor, friend, nurse and doctor, coach, finder of lost articles, money lender, taxi driver, psychologist, substitute parent, salesman, politician and a keeper of the faith.

Despite the maps, charts, formulas, verbs, stories and books, I have really had nothing to teach, for my students really have only themselves to learn, and I know it takes the whole world to tell you who you are.

I am a paradox. I speak loudest when I listen the most. My greatest gifts are in what I am willing to appreciatively receive from my students.

Material wealth is not one of my goals, but I am a full-time treasure seeker in my quest for new opportunities for my students to use their talents and in my constant search for those talents that sometimes lie buried in self-defeat.

I am the most fortunate of all who labor.

A doctor is allowed to usher life into the world in one magic moment.

I am allowed to see that life is reborn each day with new questions, ideas and friendships.

An architect knows that if he builds with care, his structure may stand for centuries. A teacher knows that if he builds with love and truth, what he builds will last forever.

I am a warrior, daily doing battle against peer pressure, negativity, fear, conformity, prejudice, ignorance and apathy. But I have great allies: Intelligence, Curiosity, Parental Support, Individuality, Creativity, Faith, Love and Laughter all rush to my banner with indomitable support.

And who do I have to thank for this wonderful life I am so fortunate to experience, but you the public, the parents. For you have done me the great honor to entrust to me your greatest contribution to eternity, your children.

And so I have a past that is rich in memories. I have a present that is challenging, adventurous and fun because I am allowed to spend my days with the future.

I am a teacher ... and I thank God for it every day

~John W. Schlatter