また、お邪魔しました。yakari178さんからは悪い生徒に見えるでしょうけれど……僕の場合は自然に涙が出てきてしまう事例です。不思議と癒されるのです。
Here is a story of inspiration:
He was in the first third gradeclass I taught at
Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my
students were dear to me,but Mark Eklund was one
in a million. Very neat in appearance,but had that
happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his
occasional mischieviousness delightful.
Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again
and again that talking without permission was not
acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was
his sincere response every time I had to correct him
for misbehaving - "Thank you for correcting me, Sister
!" I didn't know what to make of it at first, but
before long I became accustomed to hearing it many
times a day.
One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark
talked once too often, and then I made a novice-
teacher's mistake. I looked at him and said, "If you
say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth
shut!"
It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out,
"Mark is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the
students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated
the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on
it.
I remember the scene as if it had occurred this
morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened
my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without
saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off
two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his
mouth. I then returned to the front of the room. As I
glanced at Mark to see how he was doing he winked at
me. That did it! I started laughing. The class cheered
as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape and
shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, "Thank
you for correcting me, Sister."
At the end of the year I was asked to teach junior-
high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it
Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome
than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen
carefully to my instructions in the "new math," he
did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in the
third.
One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had
worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed
that the students were frowning, frustrated with
themselves - and edgy with one another. I had to stop
this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked
them to list the names of the other students in the
room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between
each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest
thing they could say about each of their classmates
and write it down. It took the remainder of he class
period to finish the assignment, and as the students
left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie
smiled. Marked said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister.
Have a good weekend."
That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student
on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what
everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday
I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the
entire class was smiling. "Really?" I heard whispered.
"I never knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't
know others liked me so much!" No one ever mentioned
those papers in class again. I never knew if they
discussed them after class or with their parents, but
it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its
purpose. The students were happy with themselves and
one another again.
That group of students moved on. Several years later,
after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at
the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me
the usual questions about the trip - the weather, my
experiences in general. There was a light lull in the
conversation. Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and
simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he
usually did before something important. "The Eklunds
called last night," he began. "Really?" I said. "I
haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is."
Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam,"he
said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would
like it if you could attend." To this day I can still
point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me
about Mark.
I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin
before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I
could think at that moment was, Mark, I would give all
the masking tape in the world if only you would talk
to me. The church was packed with Mark's friends.
Chuck's sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."
Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It
was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said
the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by
one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the
coffin and sprinkled it with holy water.
I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood
there, one of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer
came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he
asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin.
"Mark talked about you a lot," he said.
After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates
headed to Chucks farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother
and father were there, obviously waiting for me.
"We want to show you something," his father said,
taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on
Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize
it."
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn
pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped,
folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking
that the papers were the ones on which I had listed
all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said
about him. "Thank you so much for doing that" Mark's
mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."
Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie
smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my
list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home."
Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put this in our
wedding album." "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's
in my diary." Then Vicki, another classmate, reached
into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed
her worn and frazzled list to the group. "I carry this
with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an
eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."
That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for
Mark and for all his friends who would never see him
again.
お礼
ご回答ありがとうございます。励まされました。 私自身、複雑な家庭に育ち子どもの頃は色々と辛い思いもしました。そんな子どもたちの力になりたいと教師を志したのにもかかわらず、実際辛い思いをしている子どもたちと接していると、気持ちが分かりすぎて重たくなってしまうんですよね。両親の離婚で傷ついている子を前にしても、家庭の事情にまで口を出すことはできませんから。 私は無理せず私にできる範囲でやっていけばいいんですよね。少し完璧を求めすぎていたような気がします。