It is said that babies love those whose voices they hear while still in the womb. I am prepared to accept that that sometimes isn't the case but certainly it was the case for me. I love my mother's voice. I not only heard that voice while still in the womb but felt it's vibrations and rhythms while my body was part of hers. I love my mother. I love her so much I don't know how it will be when she dies. What will I say at her funeral? Surely what I feel is beyond words. Or is it the muffled words and mixed emotions of travelling inside someone for nine months? I love her more than anyone, and that love is unconditional.
I have written in an earlier e mail that I have made recent contact with a teacher of my youth after a forty year separation. Upon seeing her and particularly upon hearing her voice I realised that I loved her. I have loved her since she taught me in 1968 and 1969. I was not the only one, and can say with some confidence that most of our class did, and still do love her.
So, some teachers are very important to young adolescents on the very first step of adolescence with blurred and muffled hopes and dreams of adulthood on their horizon and in their imaginary. Unfinished songs playing inaudibly in the background. It all merges. This young woman - not much older than we were ... still only twenty one or twenty two years old - became the rock that held those dreams and unfinished compositions in an important place. She held them in the place of possibility - of hope and trust in the future, of hope and trust in our young selves. Afterall, what more does a good teacher have to offer than a belief in her students - in their ability to succeed, to grow, to flourish? If a teacher can't communicate that then surely a student can't flourish. Surely to offer subject content on a plate without trust in her students would have been to doom them to failure.
So, when the times became tough, that is the vibe I held. I was found to be interesting by this teacher. As the third of four daughters I often felt like a fifth wheel in my family- the same as the other wheels, so of no real consequence. That is not unusual and no blame is intended. As the third repetition of the same what can one expect? I grew up expecting very little. Yet in my ninth and tenth year of schooling that changed slightly and forever.
I know I will hear my mother's voice for ever - metaphorically at least and hopefully in my imaginary. This is unconditional love. Recently I sent the fave teacher an e mail, though in my somewhat autistic way it came across all wrong. I perhaps severed something very important then. It has been weeks and she has not replied. I have apologised by e mail but know that one cannot unbreak an egg. Unconditional love is an egg that when broken can be unbroken. It's a magic pudding which will nourish us for ever. A rare and wonderful thing. A security. Perhaps the love between this teacher and myself was unconditional in my heart and mind but not in hers. We'll see. I wait, and hope, but expect very little ...
I have written in an earlier e mail that I have made recent contact with a teacher of my youth after a forty year separation. Upon seeing her and particularly upon hearing her voice I realised that I loved her. I have loved her since she taught me in 1968 and 1969. I was not the only one, and can say with some confidence that most of our class did, and still do love her.
So, some teachers are very important to young adolescents on the very first step of adolescence with blurred and muffled hopes and dreams of adulthood on their horizon and in their imaginary. Unfinished songs playing inaudibly in the background. It all merges. This young woman - not much older than we were ... still only twenty one or twenty two years old - became the rock that held those dreams and unfinished compositions in an important place. She held them in the place of possibility - of hope and trust in the future, of hope and trust in our young selves. Afterall, what more does a good teacher have to offer than a belief in her students - in their ability to succeed, to grow, to flourish? If a teacher can't communicate that then surely a student can't flourish. Surely to offer subject content on a plate without trust in her students would have been to doom them to failure.
So, when the times became tough, that is the vibe I held. I was found to be interesting by this teacher. As the third of four daughters I often felt like a fifth wheel in my family- the same as the other wheels, so of no real consequence. That is not unusual and no blame is intended. As the third repetition of the same what can one expect? I grew up expecting very little. Yet in my ninth and tenth year of schooling that changed slightly and forever.
I know I will hear my mother's voice for ever - metaphorically at least and hopefully in my imaginary. This is unconditional love. Recently I sent the fave teacher an e mail, though in my somewhat autistic way it came across all wrong. I perhaps severed something very important then. It has been weeks and she has not replied. I have apologised by e mail but know that one cannot unbreak an egg. Unconditional love is an egg that when broken can be unbroken. It's a magic pudding which will nourish us for ever. A rare and wonderful thing. A security. Perhaps the love between this teacher and myself was unconditional in my heart and mind but not in hers. We'll see. I wait, and hope, but expect very little ...
