Touch The Future 

By TAD BARTIMUS

Every day we trot out our skills in the morning, use a few of them for the next 15 hours or so, then lay them to rest until next time, unconscious that everything we know is always there, waiting to be flexed, exercised, applied.

For years I have watched from a distance as high school students struggle to get into college or land a first real job by writing about themselves. Too often, however, they freeze in front of a computer screen, unable to express who they really are or what they really want. A bright, eager student won't get his or her dream because they can't convey their hopes and goals to strangers.

Three years ago a high school senior asked, "Can you teach me to write?," and I replied, "I'll teach you what I know." We worked one-on-one, and the collaboration made a positive difference in both our lives.

This year four juniors came to me, so I cast a wider net by offering to teach a community college class, three hours on five consecutive Wednesday nights. I filled out way too much paperwork, then put the class on my mental back burner.

At noon on my first Wednesday, I got a serious attack of the "too's:" too busy, too frazzled, too tired, too out of touch, too nervous, too unprepared.

Berating myself with every breath for overloading my life once again, I haphazardly pulled reference and inspirational books off shelves, frantically searched for ancient syllabus notes in the garage and, forgetting the energy bar on the kitchen counter, barely arrived in time to unlock the classroom. 

Twelve high school juniors and one senior had signed up. As the last straggler settled into her seat 15 minutes tardy, my psyche shifted into full professor mode: 

"Good evening. For every five minutes you're late, you lose one letter grade. No excused absences without a doctor's letter or a funeral notice. Two missed classes, and you flunk. Okay, let's go!"

They plunged in. Talking, typing, reading their words out loud to the class, they paused only long enough to drink a soda and go to the restroom. 

The harder they worked, the more invigorated-calmer-younger-confident I felt. Hey, this was GREAT! I was jazzed! I hadn't had this much fun since ... well, actually, I couldn't remember. I went home and fell asleep in the recliner with my cold supper on my lap.

I have discovered there are lots of us in my community. Sixty to 80 folks, many of them retired executives and former professionals, volunteer a total of 300 to 400 hours a month at our local public school. They read to children, and children read back to them. They deliver supplies; run errands; teach music, art, carpentry, auto repair. They give firsthand accounts of their travels for geography class, chaperone field trips, shepherd budding math geniuses through interscholastic competitions, chauffeur athletes to sporting events, hone debate and mock trial techniques. An administrator says, "they do whatever is needed; they are an invaluable resource."

A surprising number of volunteers don't have children or grandchildren enrolled in the small K-12 school of only 320 students; they just do it to help.

"It's fun," said a 66-year-old retired computer expert. He spends three hours four days a week drilling fifth and sixth graders on their multiplication tables. "I get more out of it than they do."

Christa McAuliffe, the Concord, N.H., social studies teacher who died when the space shuttle Challenger exploded in 1986, said: "I touch the future; I teach." 
It's true. Children make us believe in the future. They're hungry for goals, they long to be inspired, they'll always do more than they think they can. They aren't jaded or cynical. They live in the now, believe in the possible. Their dreams have no "can't's." Because children always want to know why, they push us to re-invigorate our sluggish brains, sharpen our skills, expand our knowledge. They look up to us, leave us no choice but to stand and deliver.
At the end of my first class, my students thanked me.

"No," I said, "the honor is mine."

© 2001 The Women Syndicate

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© 2001 The Women Syndicate. The content on these pages is the property of The Women Syndicate and may not be used without express written permission. Contact friends@tadbartimus.com