To Honor a Teacher

“The education and training of children is among the most meritorious acts of humankind…” – Abdu’l-Baha
In honor of my friend Rebecca’s dedication to her countless children and because the efforts of teachers are so often overlooked, I’m suggesting each of us write about a teacher who changed our life for the better that their dedication to education be honored publicly. I’m writing about teachers I had as a child. Many of us have also had teachers change our lives positively as adults in unexpected ways. Every one of them is important.
To Honor a Teacher (or two) -Sandy and Alanzo Coleman
I got lucky. I can look back and identify several teachers who made a significant positive impact on my life. For now, I choose two to honor. In all my years as a student, they stand out as the brightest lights. They were a young married couple who taught together. Every summer for three years, from eight to ten years old, I spent weekday mornings at their temporarily housed Baha’i school. They gave us cool projects, like building a model of the Baha’i House of Worship in Wilmette out of Popsicle sticks. Somewhere on earth is a Polaroid of eight year old me, hair a choppy mess, smiling bright, kneeling beside my amateur model. They challenged and encouraged me to memorize prayers. Under their loving care, I memorized a 654 word prayer. I appreciated the momma bear soft reading corner under a window, especially on sunny days. That’s where Shel Silverstein and I played with words for hours. In my last year in Sandy and Alanzo’s summer class room, we spent a while every day rehearsing songs they wrote. At summer’s end, we piled into a recording studio and gave our best for a two tape set called, “A Teacher’s Gift.” A few months later, I received a copy in the mail.
I still listen to our beautiful child voices and sing along while I do dishes and my children build Lego mega ships (or any number of amazing structures). There’s one song where Sandy’s voice rings out like an angel. Whenever I’m about to hear her voice, I stop what I’m doing, close my eyes and make a space in my being for a magic that always arrives. On the inside of the jacket, there’s a special note of thanks to two students. I’m one of them. Being able to see my name in black and white associated with my best memories often carried me through dark days as a struggling teen. To me, those 2 tapes are more precious than the most breath taking sunrise.
I’ve just described tangible evidence of their work as teachers. That’s not where their magic lived though. They had my heart because I was important to them. I could tell each of us were. Rather than feel jealous, I felt like I was part of a family.
One day at lunch, we went to the park near Noyes street El Stop. While I ate bologna and mayo on Wonder bread, they ate trail mix and fresh peaches. Food was the topic of on the table. Alanzo mentioned an unusually talented group called breatharians. They had the seemingly miraculous ability to walk into any building where food was being prepared and sniff just so to obtain sufficient nutrition to sustain them on nothing but a steady diet of tasty aromas. I wanted to believe him so badly! For fun, I carried the joke one step further, demonstrating their technique. Soon we were all doubled over, extrapolating all sorts of possibilities for how these breatharians worked. This scene was like so many others with these teachers of life and happiness.
I was ten. They were in their early twenties. Yet… there was no distinction between us. Joy was joy, sharable by anyone who chooses to and these radiant souls who dedicated their lives to the education of children, emitted love, joy and respect with a knowing that, of course every child is a jewel just waiting to shine.
I found them years later. They’re still teaching. We’re still in touch. If they didn’t live across the country, I would love my boys to be their students, fully trusting their judgment in every way every day.
God Bless you dear friends. One day, I’ll take the journey out west with my family, just to thank you in person.