For You, By You
A Selection of Writings by Our Readers on the Subject of . . .A Most Memorable Teacher
Teachers are gods who, very slowly, drizzle down from heaven. When we are in kindergarten they are too high. In adult education classes, they have fallen too low to be gods any more. But somewhere in-between there was ... János Nitschinger. I knew him for over three years just after World War II, when I was a fifth through seventh grader in a school for Hungarian refugees in the Western Austrian province of Tirol. He was a gym teacher, a boxer and a pingpong player. We called him János-bá, which means Big Brother János. To me he was much more than just a big brother. He was a real live hero. He had survived the Russian front as an artillery sergeant. He could control a sailing kayak on the turbulent waters of the Inn River. The muscle building exercises we did together had such a lasting effect that many years later, in the military, I still earned a respectable score in physical fitness. Still later, I became a sailing instructor at Chicago's Monroe Harbor. He was also a math teacher. He taught me how to derive the binomial quadratic equation (a+b)2=a2+2ab+b2 Then he would show off with me in front of the other teachers. What a fantastic confidence builder he was! Years later, I became an electronics engineer. János was a refined, compassionate man. When I had suffered insults at my lack of musical talent in that land of overdriven musical culture, he was there to console me. As a Boy Scout leader, he taught me how to shake hands like a man. Incidentally, he was still in his twenties, without proper certification. He studied a remarkable combination of majors: forestry engineering and religious philosophy. Perhaps that's why I learned to admire the combination of the splendor of scientific laws of nature as well as the awesome presence of the Creator. János helped me discover myself. Somewhere in-between, as teachers drizzle down from heaven, there is an age of golden opportunity when, like powerful gods, they can impregnate a young student's mind and spirit with creative sparks that grow into guiding beacons for the journey of life. In my life, such a teacher was János-bá. When the refugee camp was dispersed, I learned that when it's time to say goodbye, men don't cry.
It's hard to speak about only one teacher since throughout our lives we have so many. Without going into the obvious, i.e., parents, family, friends, etc., the memorable teachers for me have been those people or growth centers which helped me to see outside myself and feel a part of this great community of spirit. Mrs. Ruth, my kindergarten teacher, taught me the value of kindness and that we are all the same underneath, no matter what our color, size or shape. She also taught me the intrinsic goodness of milk, cookies and naps. Mr. Hrebic, my fifth grade creative writing teacher taught me that we all have a message and the duty to express ourselves no matter what or how. The most recent teacher to enter my life has taught me by example. My friend was recently diagnosed with cancer. She has approached this health challenge with vigorous positivity. She has faced the fear and has come out triumphant on the other side . . . now she can get on with the healing process. She's not naive. She considered the alternatives that are available, and carefully contemplated the different possibilities. She opens herself to awareness of whatever subtle reasons she might have for making a decision about how she will proceed, and refuses to be pushed around by any one viewpoint. She is treating herself holistically and spiritually. Most of the tears she's shed have been for other people and their narrow-minded, even bullying, reactions toward her condition. There's never a glimmer of doubt in her eyes and she has never stopped smiling. She is living by her beliefs. With the vigor with she is attacking this condition, I am reminded of a warrior going into a long-awaited battle. Faith over fear, in action. Her example represents to me how to truly live from spirit. So thank you, Mrs. Ruth, Mr. Hrebic, my buddy and all the others I've learned from who aren't mentioned above. And thank you, Aspectarian, for being an ongoing teacher I look to for insights each month.
Things were tight. But this time it was different. Everything was overdue. Even the rent was three months behind. My back was against the wall. I was so desperate I didn't know what else to do and I did what I swore I would never do again. . . . I called the Sub Center, the headquarters for substitute teachers. Substitute teaching for the Board of Education had left me cynical. I didn't have to buy into all the rumors I had been hearing about the notorious Chicago public schools; I was a first-hand witness. What was so impossible? Teaching. I never had time to teach the children because I spent all my time disciplining them, which led to more frustration. It was a power struggle. I made the call -- and then a call came to me, but not over the telephone. "The battle is not yours," the voice said. "If you go back, I'll fight your battles," kept echoing in my head. I knew the voice was God talking to me. That was the only way I could explain what was happening. And how could I argue with that? Things were different this time when I returned to teaching. It was like God was sending me a message, but it was in the first person. "It's not about controlling the children in the classroom. I'm only there to supervise the children in the distribution of knowledge." When I enter the classroom there's not a struggle any more. I mentally ask myself, What is it I come to serve you today? The lesson quickly appears in my mind's eye and I pass it on to the children. I see the message more clearly now, God. The classroom is representative of the earth. We all come here for our life's lesson. There will be many teachers, or stewards, in our lives. It is not necessary to force life's lessons upon your children. The lesson must be revealed to each individual in that person's own way. We are all stewards in one way or another. Mostly, we serve each other via our work and through our families. However, the most important stewardship we will encounter is the stewardship of our own lives that God has entrusted to us.
The November issue will feature Gratitude (deadline September 30, 1997); and in January, we'll consider A New Beginning (deadline November 30, 1997). Tell us in about 400 words -- subject to editing for content and length -- what thoughts and feelings the subjects inspire. Each person on the staff will read several entries and forward their favorite(s) to the For You - By You desk. Please mail your writing to us at P.O. Box 1342, Morton Grove, IL 60053; or fax it to (847) 966-6535; or e-mail foryou@lightworks.com. Be sure to add your name and location to your writing! We won't be able to communicate about your entry, and the decisions of the staff are final. If you want us to return your work, please enclose a self addressed, stamped envelope.
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