Today is my first day in school after 4 weeks away for a course.My mind is still limbo, thinking about my husband’s transfer to KL but I’ve set my mind to enjoy the celebration regardless of the mood.
Teacher’s Day Poem May 16, 2009
The Teacher
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- When meeting someone at the first,
They often ask me what I do.
I smile and think of how I taught
My little boy to tie his shoe,
And how to sing and how to pray
And how to tell the time of day.
Why the rainbow’s in the sky,
Why birdies can but cows can’t fly.
Why sky is blue and grass is green
And unicorns are never seen.
How to think of others first
And deal with life’s little hurts.
To say “Thanks you” and “You’re welcome”
Say “Please” for food, and don’t reach.
When someone asks me what I do –
I smile and simply say, “I teach”. ~author unknown
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MOTIVATIONAL POEM
Portrait of a Friend
Author: Unknown Source: Unknown Translator: Unknown
I can’t give solutions to all of life’s problems,
doubts, or fears.
But I can listen to you, and together we can seek
answers.
I can’t change your past with all it’s heartache and
pain, nor the future with it’s untold stories.
But I can be there now when you need me to care.
I can’t keep your feet from stumbling.
I can only offer my hand that you may grasp it and not
fall.
Your joys, triumphs, successes, and happinesses are
not mine;
Yet I can share in your laughter and joy.
Your decisions in life are not mine to make, nor to
judge;
I can only support you, encourage you, and help you
when you ask.
I can’t give you boundaries which I have determined
for you,
But I can give you the room to change, room to grow,
room to be yourself.
I can’t keep your heart from breaking and hurting,
But I can cry with you and help you pick up the pieces
and put them back in place.
I can’t tell you who you are.
I can only love you and be your friend.
MOTIVATIONAL STORIES
Learning To Listen
Author: Johnny Silvas
We all know what it’s like to get that phone call in the middle of the night.
This night’s call was no different.
Jerking up to the ringing summons, I focused on the red illuminated numbers of my clock. Midnight. Panicky thoughts filled my sleep-dazed mind as I grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
My heart pounded; I gripped the phone tighter and eyed my husband, who was now turning to face my side of the bed.
“Mama?”
I could hardly hear the whisper over the static. But my thoughts immediately went to my daughter. When the desperate sound of a young crying voice became clearer on the line, I grabbed for my husband and squeezed his wrist.
“Mama, I know it’s late, but don’t…don’t say anything, until I finish. And before you ask, yes, I’ve been drinking. I nearly ran off the road a few miles back and…”
I drew in a sharp shallow breath, released my husband and pressed my hand against my forehead. Sleep still fogged my mind, and I attempted to fight back the panic.
Something wasn’t right.
“And I got so scared. All I could think about was how it would hurt you if a policeman came to your door and said I’d been killed. I want…to come home. I know running away was wrong. I know you’ve been worried sick. I should have called you days ago, but I was afraid…afraid…”
Sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and poured into my heart. Immediately I pictured my daughter’s face in my mind and my fogged senses seemed to clear. “I think…”
“No! Please let me finish! Please!” She pleaded, not so much in anger but in desperation.
I paused and tried to think of what to say. Before I could go on, she continued, “I’m pregnant, Mama. I know I shouldn’t be drinking now… especially now, but I’m scared, Mama, so scared!”
The voice broke again and I bit into my lip feeling my own eyes fill with moisture. I looked at my husband who sat silently mouthing, “Who is it?”
I shook my head and when I didn’t answer, he jumped up and left the room, returning seconds later with the portable phone held to his ear. She must have heard the click in the line because she continued, “Are you still there? Please don’t hang up on me! I need you. I feel so alone.”
I clutched the phone and stared at my husband, seeking guidance. “I’m here, I wouldn’t hang up,” I said.
“I know I should have told you, Mama. But when we talk, you just keep telling me what I should do. You read all those pamphlets on how to talk about sex and all, but all you do is talk. You don’t listen to me. You never let me tell you how I feel. It is as filmy feelings aren’t important. Because you’re my mother, you think you have all the answers. But sometimes I don’t need answers. I just want someone to listen.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the how-to-talk- to-your-kids pamphlets scattered on my nightstand. “I’m listening,” I whispered.
“You know, back there on the road, after I got the car under control, I started thinking about the baby and taking care of it. Then I saw this phone booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching about people shouldn’t drink and drive. So I called a taxi. I want to come home.”
“That’s good, Honey,” I said as relief filled my chest. My husband came closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through mine. I knew from his touch that he thought I was doing and saying the right thing.
“But you know, I think I can drive now.”
“No!” I snapped. My muscles stiffened, and I tightened the clasp on my husband’s hand. “Please, wait for the taxi. Don’t hang up on me until the taxi gets there.”
“I just want to come home, Mama.”
“I know. But do this for your mama. Wait for the taxi, please.” I listened to the silence in fear. When I didn’t hear her answer, I bit into my lip and closed my eyes. Somehow I had to stop her from driving.
“There’s the taxi, now.”
Only when I heard someone in the background asking about a Yellow Cab did I feel my tension easing.
I’m coming home, Mama.”
There was a click and the phone went silent. Moving from the bed with tears forming in my eyes, I walked out into the hall and went to stand in my sixteen-year-old daughter’s room. The dark silence hung thick. My husband came from behind, wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head. I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
“We have to learn to listen,” I said.
He pulled me around to face him. “We’ll learn. You’ll see.”
Then he took me into his arms and I buried my head in his shoulder. I let him hold me for several moments, then I pulled back and stared back at the bed. He studied me for a second, then asked, “Do you think she’ll ever know she dialed the wrong number?”
I looked at our sleeping daughter, then back at him. “Maybe it wasn’t such a wrong number.”
“Mom, Dad, what are you doing?” The muffled young voice came from under the covers.
I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring into the darkness.
“We’re practicing,” I answered.
“Practicing what?” she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, her eyes already closed in slumber.
“Listening,” I whispered, and brushed a hand over her cheek.
CIKGU HAYATI AINI 