I believe I went to school for so many years of my life just to meet Mr. Ohly. By the time we met in the seventh grade, I had already sat through over 7,000 hours at one desk or another. I "did" those hours because I believed I had to. Later, after I had completed more years of college, I stopped to wonder one day, "what was all that about?"
I believe it was the meeting of Mr. Ohly, a 7th grade teacher. All the other years of sitting, listening, and reporting back a variety of facts, were the background context for his gift to me. A gift I felt at the time, yet only fully appreciated many years later.
For only a few seconds, Mr. Ohly put his warm large hand on my shoulder as I sat at my desk doing an assignment. It was the kind of touch that is filled with recognition, kindness, encouragement, and the "you are OK just the way you are, love." I didn't know that in my mind then. I didn't have words.
As he moved to the next person in front of me, his hand shifting from my shoulder to the shoulder of the girl in front of me, my eyes watered, and my head went down automatically to hide the tears. Had I felt safe to feel completely, I would have cried. I knew it then and I
knew I would have been embarrassed and even been made fun of. I was not ready for that.
So, instead, I had quiet tears. A silent voice inside me whispered, "he likes me. He just likes me."
I believe it was the meeting of Mr. Ohly, a 7th grade teacher. All the other years of sitting, listening, and reporting back a variety of facts, were the background context for his gift to me. A gift I felt at the time, yet only fully appreciated many years later.
For only a few seconds, Mr. Ohly put his warm large hand on my shoulder as I sat at my desk doing an assignment. It was the kind of touch that is filled with recognition, kindness, encouragement, and the "you are OK just the way you are, love." I didn't know that in my mind then. I didn't have words.
As he moved to the next person in front of me, his hand shifting from my shoulder to the shoulder of the girl in front of me, my eyes watered, and my head went down automatically to hide the tears. Had I felt safe to feel completely, I would have cried. I knew it then and I
knew I would have been embarrassed and even been made fun of. I was not ready for that.
So, instead, I had quiet tears. A silent voice inside me whispered, "he likes me. He just likes me."
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