Calligraphic Gift
Years ago, before I left McGehee's, where I taught for 18 years and student-taught before that, the mother of a graduating senior gave me a gift that I see every day: a calligraphic quotation. With cheerful, multi-colored Where's Waldo-type characters surrounding it, the text box reads: "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes. -- Marcel Proust." When the mother gave me this gift, she thanked me for helping her daughter gain new eyes.
I remember both women fondly. (The daughter, whom I taught in English 8, 10, and 12, is now 27, so "woman" is indeed the suitable word.) The daughter was somewhat shy and self-conscious in school. By the time she was a senior, she had become more assertive and a much better student of language and composition and literature.
Looking at this gift reminds me that even when students or parents or fellow faculty claim I am too demanding, I have made a difference for some people, Sally included.
I remember both women fondly. (The daughter, whom I taught in English 8, 10, and 12, is now 27, so "woman" is indeed the suitable word.) The daughter was somewhat shy and self-conscious in school. By the time she was a senior, she had become more assertive and a much better student of language and composition and literature.
No comments:
Post a Comment