Journal of a Living Lady #72
A
friend shared with me that during her second month of nursing school, the
professor shocked the class with a pop quiz. Being a very good student, she
breezed through all the questions except the last one. It was a stumper.
“What
is the first name of the lady who cleans the school?”
The
friend thought this must be a joke or a trick question. She had seen the cleaning lady several times
and could describe her. The lady was tall, dark-headed, and probably in her
fifties. But her name? No, she had no reason to know that.
Consequently
the friend turned in the paper with the last question blank. After the quizzes
were passed to the front, a student asked if the last question would count
toward the grade.
The
professors frowned. “Absolutely,” he said. “In your careers, you will meet many
people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all
you do is smile and say, ‘hello.’ “
My
friend learned that the name of the cleaning lady was “Dot.” She never forgot
it. She also learned a valuable lesson which is worth passing on.
Our
son, Charlie Kelly, just left to teach a music class to some elementary
children in a church music camp. I reminded him to learn the names of each
student early. It builds rapport between students and teacher. All individuals
like to be called by name.
When
I was a school principal and leading an assembly, quite often I’d introduce
myself. Then, at the count of three, I would have the hundreds of children say
their names back to me in unison. It always got a laugh.
I
really did make it a goal to learn the names of every student as soon as
possible. Parents too. Not that I remember them all now. The ole gray matter
“ain’t” what it used to be.
One
day not long ago, a man carrying a clip-board of paper came up to me in the
grocery store and grinned.
“You
don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.
“Your
face looks familiar,” I responded, hedging a bit, trying to buy time to study
his features. He had heavy eyebrows and graying hair at the temples. He
volunteered no clues.
“Hmm, let me
think,” I said, as I pondered every class I’d ever taught trying to determine
what age they’d be now.
He
stood patiently as I studied him. Finally, I gave up. He could have been any of
hundreds of boys I’ve taught through the years.
“I’m
afraid your name escapes me,” I said, hanging my head in embarrassment.
Immediately my eyes caught his name boldly printed on the bottom on the order
pad he was holding.”
“That’s
all right,” he said. “I used to be your milk delivery man over thirty years
ago.”
“Don!”
I exclaimed. “How could I forget you?” I gave him a big hug.
After a little chit-chat, I finished my
shopping. Don waved to me as I left the grocery store.
“Bye, Mrs.
Winters.”
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