Lessons Learned From the "Little People"

A re-post in recognition of St. Patrick's Day and the value of finding magic in everyday things... a power well known by children and always within our reach, as adults.

                                                                               

It happened every year on St. Patrick's Day.  I'd swing open the door of my classroom to 30 eagerly awaiting kindergartners and prepare to deliver the unsettling news. Our classroom was a mess! Somehow, blocks and toys had been left all over the floor, paints had been tipped over, and tiny little green footprints covered the counter tops and whiteboards! The children would be horrified... delightfully horrified.  There was never any argument about the clean-up.  Everyone was anxious to help, confident that under the next pile of blocks or in the next cupboard, they would find the leprechaun responsible for the mess.  It had to be a leprechaun, didn't it? Although the actual mischievous sprite of  Irish folklore was never caught, several were seen running past the door or escaping over the playground fence.  It would be well into April before the sightings stopped.

I suspicioned that  when I left kindergarten for third grade, I'd miss the naive charm of a five year old child. Although most third graders no  longer believed in leprechauns they delighted in other things.  One of those things was the magic of nature. A lizard zipping across the pavement would bring squeals of excitement from most eight-year olds. I was always reminding my students that a paper cup and handful of grass was not the natural habitat for ladybugs but there were times when their wide open eyes, brimming with tears, would force me to concede..."How about releasing them after you've shown mom and dad?"  Their enchantment with nature was undeniable and it didn't stop with living things.

We were lucky enough, in our classroom, to have a large six-foot window that looked out on a grassy area and several trees. Not the students, that passed by the window, or even the workers that climbed ladders, in front of our window to the roof, caused as much of a distraction as the changing weather. Every time it started to rain, there would be a rumble in the classroom, and a couple of my most impulsive kids would escape from their seats to get a closer look.  The first time it happened, I headed to the window with full intentions of closing the blinds. But, I stopped.

Wasn't curiosity the very thing that teachers hoped to encourage? I believed it played as important of a role, in the education of a child, as learning facts. And isn't a certain portion of adult success (that is a long-term goal of educators, after all) measured by personal happiness?  It always seemed to me that happiness had more to do with being awed by life and the things around you than it did with wealth or fame.

But most of all, I had promised myself as a young college student, that I  would always be a champion of childhood. Closing the blinds, at that moment, would be communicating that enjoying the sights and sounds of the rain was far less important than our lessons.But the rain wouldn't last forever and their attention spans were short. The mystery of the rain would pass and we would be able to get back to the joys of multiplication.  But for now, for this short moment in time, we needed to delight in what was in front of us. And so we did.

I learned numerous lessons, from my students, over the course of my teaching career. I always knew childhood was a magical time but they reminded me, year after year, that keeping life magical had a lot to do with knowing when to let your imagination run wild and remembering to view everyday events as celebrations. And those, thank goodness, are lessons I don't need to let go of as I age.


                                                           Happy St. Patrick's Day

  Annalise Art

Mrs. Toman

I lived in my first off-base housing, in the suburbs of Washington D.C., after my father was transferred from Ramstein, Germany to Andrews Air Force Base. It was the early 1960s and a time when only a small percentage of moms worked outside of the home, so besides riding bikes and playing endless outdoor games, children spent a lot of time in and out of each other's houses. Neighbors intentionally got to know neighbors.

The Toman family lived next door and one of their four children was a daughter, my age. Debbie turned out to be kind and dependable and we had lots of shared interests. As you might expect, she and I became good friends and spent much of our after-school time together.

From early on, I felt very welcome in the Toman house. I was a bit mesmerized by the hustle and bustle that went on in a big family and I think Mrs. Toman recognized that fact. She was a natural nurturer and it wasn't long before I felt she genuinely cared about me.  She often invited me to stay for dinner when she served her infamous Pasta Fazool and I occasionally attended Mount Calvary Church, with them, on Sundays. My family was not Catholic so the details, customs, and  gestures of Mass were unfamiliar to me but I loved the beauty of the interior of the church (I've often wondered if it reminded me of the many cathedrals we had visited in Europe) and the way the parishioners appeared to care for each other. I especially loved the little lace mantilla that Mrs. Toman would pin to my hair before we all piled into the car to head to services on a Sunday morning.

I have so many wonderful memories of Debbie and her family but there is one specific interaction, with her mom,  that will always remain near and dear to my heart. It exemplifies the kind of woman she was and the unique relationship we shared.

One day, after lamenting to Mrs. Toman,  that I didn't have enough money to buy Mattel's Chatty Baby Doll, (my mother had told me that I could wait for my birthday, or Christmas, or spend my own money) Mrs. Toman hired me, for 25 cents a day, to be her maid.

Chatty Baby was 18" tall and was a pull-string talker.

Regular household tasks are always more exciting at someone  else's house and my talkative nature never seemed to bother Mrs. Toman, so together we  folded clothes, washed and dried dishes, and matched socks. I have no recollection of how long I worked for her but the time seemed to fly and I did eventaully earn enough money to purchase Chatty Baby. Without doubt, the recollections of those "working days" are stronger than the memories of the times I spent caring for Chatty Baby.

It has been said that childhood memories "carve our souls."  Mrs. Toman helped to shape my soul...my  sense of self. She conveyed to me, in ways more important than words, that I was a valuable little human being. She had more than enough children (there were eventually five Toman children) to fill her heart, her hands, and her time. Yet, she found time to communicate I was important to her. She found time to spend valuable moments with me. Her memory and those moments will remain with me, forever.

Dave and Helen Toman in 2000.
I received this photo, in a card, signed "Mom Toman"

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Do you have someone, from your childhood, who you consider helped to shape who you have become? Perhaps it's a good friend's parent or sibling?  Perhaps a teacher or a coach?  Take a moment to reflect on those positive childhood memories and see if a special person doesn't come to mind. Then, send that person a note letting them know those old memories still hold a special place in your heart. I promise it will be a special moment for both of you. I'd love to hear about it.

                                                    Go the extra mile - it's never crowded.

Moments of Compassion

The tire center was a bustle of activity when I dropped my car off, that December morning. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who had decided to buy tires amid the craziness of the holiday season and, on this particular day, the cool morning air mixed with good-natured customers made this sizable warehouse somehow seem festive. 

When I returned, later that afternoon to pick up my car, the center was deserted except for the clerk who hurried to retrieve my paperwork and keys. Moments after he left, a woman entered the building and joined me in line. She appeared to be a bit overwhelmed with this large tire-filled warehouse that, by now, had lost its holiday spirit. When I acknowledged her presence, with a smile, she immediately leaned closer and softly said, "This is my first time buying tires." She went on to explain that she had recently become a widow after 50 years of marriage to a man who had always  handled matters with the car. To complicate the issue, her single bald tire had prompted a multitude of solutions from grandchildren, friends, even the car dealership. I had only an instant to try and reassure her that someone would take the time to answer her questions before the clerk returned with my paperwork and keys. She had begun to explain her dilemma before I was out of the door.

For the rest of the day, it was hard for me to get the whole experience out of my head. I knew that the clerk would hear the explanation of her tire problem, but would he also hear the anxiety in her voice? Would he be able to push aside the demands of his day to give her the extra time, she might need? Would he realize the difference he could make in her life... today...and the confidence it might give her to face the next unfamiliar situation...tomorrow?  Would he even care?

Sometimes the world seems harsh and we need it to be kind.  Any one of us, at any given moment, has the power to make a difference if we take the time to recognize the need and extend a moment of compassion. It's always the right thing to do. It always matters.

 May your new year be filled with opportunities to demonstrate moments of compassion towards others and may you experience them, in abundance, yourself.