Version #1
There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was
Mrs.
Thompson. And as she stood in front of her fifth grade class on the very
first day of school, she told the children a lie ?
Like most teachers, she looked at her students and
said that
She loved them all the same ?
But that was impossible,because there in the front row, slumped
in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.
Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and
noticed that he didn't
play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that
he
constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the
point
where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers
with a
broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at
the top of his
papers.
At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was
required to review each
child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when
she
reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise. Teddy's first grade
Teacher
wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his
work neatly
and has good manners...he is a joy to be around."
His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an
excellent student, well liked by
his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal
illness
and life at home must be a struggle."
His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's
death has been hard on him. He
tries to do his best but his father doesn't show much interest and his
home
life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."
Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is
withdrawn and doesn't show much
interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and sometimes sleeps in
class."
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was
ashamed of herself.
She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents,
wrapped
in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present
was
clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery
bag.
Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of
the other presents. Some
of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet
with
some of the stones missing and a bottle that was one quarter full of
perfume.
But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed, how pretty
the
bracelet was. She put it on and dabbed some of the perfume on her wrist.
Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long
enough to say, "Mrs.
Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." After the
children
left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching
reading, writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children.
Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As
she worked with him, his
mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he
responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest
children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the
children the same, Teddy became one of her "pets."
A year later, she found a note under her door, from
Teddy, telling her that
she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years
went
by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had
finished
high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he
ever
had in his whole life.
Four years after that, she got another letter, saying
that while things had
been tough at times, he stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would
soon
graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured
Mrs.Thompson
that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his
whole
life.
Then four more years passed and yet another letter
came. This time he
explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a
little
further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite
teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.
The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD.
The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet
another letter that
spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was going to be married. He
explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was
wondering
if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was
usually reserved for the mother of the groom.
Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore
that bracelet, the one
with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the
perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas
together.
They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in
Mrs. Thompson's ear,
"Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for believing in me. Thank you so much
for making
me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."
Mrs.
Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy,
you have
it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a
difference.
I didn't know how to teach until I met you."
Warm someone's heart today. Never underestimate the
Power of Purpose.
Version #2
Three Letters from Teddy
Elizabeth Silance Ballard
Teddy’s letter came today and now that I’ve read
it, I will place it in my cedar chest with the other things that are
important to my life.
"I wanted you to be the first to know."
I smiled as I read the words he had written and my
heart swelled with pride that I had no right to feel.
I have not seen Teddy Stallard since he was a student
in my fifth grade class fifteen years ago. It was early in my career,
and I had only been teaching for two years.
From the first day he stepped into my classroom, I
disliked Teddy. Teachers (although everyone knows differently) are not
supposed to have favorites in a class, but most especially are not
supposed to show dislike for a child, any child.
Nevertheless, every year there are one or two children
that one cannot help but be attached to, for teachers are human, and it
is human nature to like bright, pretty, intelligent people, whether they
are ten years old or twenty-five. And sometimes, not too often,
fortunately, there will be one or two students to whom the teacher just
can’t seem to relate.
I had thought myself quite capable of handling my
personal feelings along that line until Teddy walked into my life. There
wasn’t a child I particularly liked that year, but Teddy, was most
assuredly the one I disliked.
He was dirty. Not just occasionally, but all the time.
His hair hung down low over his ears, and he actually had to hold it out
of his eyes as he wrote papers in class. (And this was before it was
fashionable to do so!) Too, he had a peculiar odor about him which I
could never identify.
His faults were many, and his intellect left a lot to
be desired, also. By the end of the first week I knew he was hopelessly
behind the others. Not only was he behind; he was just plain slow! I
began to withdraw from him immediately.
Any teacher will tell you that it’s more of a
pleasure to teach a bright child. It is definitely more rewarding for
one’s ego. But any teacher worth her credentials can channel work to
the bright child, keeping him challenged and learning, while she puts
her major effort on the slower ones. Any teacher can do this. Most
teachers do it, but I didn’t, not that year.
In fact, I concentrated on my best students and let
the others follow along as best they could. Ashamed as I am to admit it,
I took perverse pleasure in using my red pen; and each time I came to
Teddy’s paper, the cross marks (and there were many ) were always a
little larger and a little redder than necessary.
"Poor work!" I would write with a flourish.
While I did not actually ridicule the boy, my attitude
was obviously quite apparent to the class, for he quickly became the
class "goat" the outcast; the unlovable and the unloved.
He knew I didn’t like him, but he didn’t know why.
Nor did I know then or now, why I felt such an intense dislike for him.
All I know is that he was a little boy no one cared about and I made no
effort on his behalf.
The days rolled by. We made it through the Fall
Festival and the Thanksgiving holidays, and I continued marking happily
with my red pen.
As Christmas holidays approached, I knew that Teddy
would never catch up in time to be promoted to the sixth grade level. He
would be a repeater.
To justify myself, I went to his cumulative folder
from time to time. He had very low grades for the first four years, but
no grade failure. How he had made it, I didn’t know. I closed my mind
to the personal remarks.
First grade: Teddy shows promise by work and attitude,
but has poor home situation. Second grade: Teddy could do better. Mother
terminally ill. He receives little help at home. Third grade: Teddy is a
pleasant boy. Helpful, but too serious. Slow learner. Mother passed away
end of the year. Fourth grade: Very slow, but well behaved. Father shows
no interest.
"Well, they had passed him four times, but he
will certainly repeat fifth grade! Do him good!" I said to myself.
And then the last day before the holiday arrived. Our
little tree on the reading table sported paper and popcorn chains. Many
gifts were heaped underneath, waiting for the big moment.
Teachers always get several gifts at Christmas, but
mine that year seemed bigger and more elaborate than ever. There was not
a student who had not brought one. Each unwrapping brought squeals of
delight, and the proud giver would receive effusive thank-you’s.
His gift was in the middle of the pile. Its wrapping
was a brown paper bag, and he had colored Christmas trees and red balls
all over it. It was stuck together with masking tape.
"For Miss Thompson, from Teddy", it read.
The group was completely silent and for the first time
I felt conspicuous, embarrassed because they all stood watching me
unwrap the gift.
As I removed the last bit of masking tape, two items
fell to my desk: a gaudy rhinestone bracelet with several stones missing
and a small bottle of dime-store cologne, half empty.
I could hear the snickers and whispers, and I wasn’t
sure I could look at Teddy.
"Isn’t this lovely?" I asked, placing the
bracelet on my wrist. "Teddy, would you help me fasten it?"
He smiled shyly he fixed the clasp, and I held up my
wrist for all of them to admire.
There were a few hesitant ooh’s and ahh’s, but as
I dabbed the cologne behind my ears, all the little girls lined up for a
dab behind their ears.
I continued to open the gifts until I reached the
bottom of the pile. We ate our refreshments, and the bell rang.
The children filed out with shouts of "See you
next year!" and "Merry Christmas!" but Teddy waited at
his desk.
When they had all left, he walked up to me, clutching
his gift and books to his chest.
"You smell just like my mom" he said softly.
"Her bracelet looks really pretty on you too. I’m glad you like
it."
He left quickly. I locked the door, sat down at my
desk, and wept, resolving to make up to Teddy what I had deliberately
deprived him of---a teacher who cared.
I stayed every afternoon with Teddy from the end of
Christmas holidays until the last day of school. Sometimes he worked
alone while I drew up lesson plans or graded papers.
Slowly but surely he caught up with the rest of the
class. In fact, his final averages were among the highest in the class,
and although I knew he would be moving out of the state when school was
out, I was not worried for him. Teddy had reached a level that would
stand him in good stead the following year, no matter where he went. He
had enjoyed a measure of success, and as we were taught in our teacher
training courses, "Success builds success."
I did not hear from Teddy until seven years later,
when his first letter appeared in my mailbox.
Dear Miss Thompson,
I just wanted you to be the first to know, I will be
graduating second in my class next month.
Very Truly Yours,
Teddy Stallard
I send him a card of congratulations and a small
package containing a pencil gift set. I wondered what he would do after
graduation. Four years later, Teddy’s second letter came:
Dear Miss Thompson,
I wanted you to be the first to know. I was informed
that I'll be graduating first in my class. The university has not been
easy, but I liked it.
Very Truly Yours,
Teddy Stallard
I sent him a good pair of sterling silver monogrammed
cuff links and a card, so proud of him, I could burst.
And now - today - Teddy's last letter.
Dear Miss Thompson,
I wanted you to be the first to know. As of today, I
am Theodore J. Stallard, MD. How about that!!??
I'm going to be married in July, the twenty-seventh to
be exact. I wanted to ask you if you would come and sit where Mom would
sit if she were here. I will have no family there as Dad died last year.
Very Truly yours,
Teddy Stallard
I am not sure what kind of card one sends to a doctor
on completion of medical school and state boards. Maybe I'll just wait
and take a wedding gift, but my congratulations can't wait.
Dear Ted,
Congratulations! You made it, and you did it yourself!
In spite of those like me and not because of us, this day has come for
you. God bless you. I’ll be at the wedding with bells on!
