Thursday, February 19, 2009

Just One - A Moment in Memory

Here is my response to some of the tags in Facebook. I know I have shared "John's story" with most of you, it is truly something I will not be able to forget so easily.


“One life can make a difference: - it’s really up to you.” Those are the final lines of a poem entitled “Just One” which I find meaningful. As I ponder over them, I finally understood the impact of the phrase. If I could turn back the Hands of Time, I really would have gone the extra mile to make a difference.

John was a teacher’s dream. He greeted me with a cheery hello each morning, and wished me well at the end of the day. He was meticulous in his work, and was always immaculately dressed. He had a kind, gentle soul and his sensitivity was expressed through his creative artwork and his soulful renditions of classics when he tinkled on the keys of the school piano each afternoon.

As a young, inexperienced educator then, I tended to think that the well-behaved ones are able to hold out on their own. My energy and attention were reserved for those who see me as their arch nemesis.

“May I speak to you, please,” he asked one afternoon. The expression on his face was somber.

“Sure… Oh…I have a meeting…Can it wait?”

The eyes that met mine did not have its usual sparkle. A fleeting sense of unease struck me, but I dismissed it as him being stressed. The national exams were not too far away.

He nodded, and turned away wearily. From behind, it seemed as if the weight of the whole world were on his shoulders. I hesitated. Again the niggling feeling told me something was not right. I knew his friends had been giving him a hard time. They were always teasing him with names likes “Nerd” and “Geek”. But so far, John had never taken these to heart. He would just smile and join along.

I had lessons with the class, and made that wonderful announcement. John had scored a distinction in English in his preliminary examinations; the only one in class who had managed to do so. The reaction of the class was typical. Instead of cheering, they groaned and pulled funny faces.

John had laughed too, though the smile never quite reached his eyes. I had wanted to scold the class for being unsupportive and mean. But the child sat there smiling stoically through it all. I wanted then to say how proud I was of him, but my attention was distracted by someone else who was getting out of line.

The bell rang for the end of the day. A lone, tired figure approached the table while the rest scrambled out of the door towards freedom.

“Cher…thank you. “ The voice caught momentarily. I stared at him long and hard. Instinct told me that something was not quite right.

“Well done, John. I am proud of you,” I said.

He shrugged. “It does not matter. I do not make a difference,” and with that, he left the class. The words rang in my ears, but before I could ask him what he meant, I had to run for my meeting. I could not forget those words.

John did not come back the next day…In fact, he never came back at all. He ended his young life, and left me with many unanswered questions.

I wish I had taken the trouble to speak to him, I wish I had listened; I wish I had scolded the class. If only I had cared enough, if only I had given him the time. I can keep on wishing a million times, but I know I will never see the serene smile again. It seems that a moment of folly may never undo a lifetime of regret.

However, if there is one thing I have learnt, it is that every child matters, and every child makes a difference. It is up to me to make that difference.

Dear God, today I say a pray for John...and all the other Johns out there in the world.

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