I grew up in a extended family of teachers - and so I was accustomed to people regularly coming up to my aunts, grandparents, parents and family friends saying that something they said in the classroom still had such profound impact on them . What a lot of people don't realize is the impact that such gratitude has on the teacher. Hundreds, if not thousands, cycle through classrooms. Sometimes teachers wonder if their students remember them at all. My mom would tell me always after every encounter that that was what made teaching fulfilling - knowing the impact you had on someone's life - no matter how small.
So this October when I was in Tennessee in a speaking engagement, I remembered my mom and called my 8th grade teacher, Mrs. Bolton from Singapore American School, and spent an hour with her on the phone. We talked about my classmates. The responsible one, Hal, who could walk around the hallways without a pass --- she picked him to call the school nurse when I fainted in class because he would not be questioned. I updated her about Mike, the one who remained deeply connected to the school and infused all of us with a deep school spirit - even now, years and miles apart from Singapore American School We spoke of the stories and books she introduced me to - and made me love - The Lady and and Tiger, The Necklace, Of Mice and Men. She was thrilled how much I remembered. And I was stupefied at how she completed my story about the day I had a seizure in class - she reminded me how normal it was - it was not at all how I perceived it. She spoke to me about how not one student turned around and stared, or snickered. Instead, each one spoke with empathy about their own personal experiences with sickness and pain, whether personally or in their families. We spoke about her own battles and triumphs over breast cancer - how she immersed herself in advocacy - and then realized the best advocacy was living a good life and showing others how to do that gracefully.
We spoke at length about Singapore, how it had changed, how Beach Road no longer was edged by a beach and Ponggol was no longer a fishing village but had high rise condos - but that familiar dishes like Bak Kut Teh and Chicken Rice were still easy to find and lovelier to savour.
It was already a privilege to be mentored by Mrs. Bolton in the classroom, for her to nurture my love for literature and writing. I don't think it was a coincidence either, that I had a seizure in her class - where I felt most at home with - and where she continued to nurture my spirit - through her loving guidance, I came back to school anticipating the worst, and yet felt embraced and empowered by my classmates. It was a lesson I would never forget. And years later, during that hour, she gave me another lesson - the value of perspective. Of empathy - of never thinking too much about one's own condition - as others will always care for your as they are also fighting their own battles. And how to always share the best of yourself by being a good example. I suppose, one can never stop teaching. And no walls can define a classroom.
But by far, the best lesson I had was that which I learned from my mom - teachers often wonder what happens to their students, what impact they make. Surely we have encountered all sorts of teachers - in school, at work, in other parts of our lives. The very best teachers give a little bit of themselves with each lesson they impart - and that's why we remember.them.. That morning, Mrs. Bolton and I spoke of the joy she experienced being a grandmother - and I could not contain my personal joy to share this hour with her on the phone. How often do you have a chance to reach out to someone who fundamentally changed your life and thank them? And then it was time for her to pick up her grandkids.
And, yet in that hour, she had once again, taught me a few life lessons. In the past she had helped me grow roots - this time, she helped a few ideas take flight.
