The Polliwog Journal

Doctor’s office waiting areas are great places to quietly observe our fellow human beings in action. Today I saw something that brought me joy.

A young man, in about fourth or fifth grade was sitting with his sister at the children’s table., most likely waiting for a parent. They had one of those coloring books that has activities in it, like mazes, connect the dots, etc. The sister was probably right around three years old, as she was struggling somewhat with some basic concepts of color.

Her brother was the most artful (meaning natural) teacher I ‘ve witnessed in a long time. He was guiding her through several activities with a calmness that belied his age.

When faced with one puzzle too difficult, he asked her gently, “would you like to find an easier one?”

She nodded yes.

Next they were on a page where they had to create their own pizza.

“We need to decide what we want on our pizza. What do you like?” he asked, but then quickly remembered that they needed the sauce first.

“We need red for that. Can you find a good red?”

She did, and he showed her how to put the sauce on their paper pizza. Then, like a good teacher who has engaged his student in a meaningful task, he left her to work at her own pace.

It was then I noticed that he carried back to his seat in the row of chairs a book of at least 300 pages, maybe more. I couldn’t make out what it was, but what I did observe was his urgent desire to get back to reading it.

At this point my admiration for the young teacher was so strong that I wanted to sit with him, talk with him, and get to know him, just a bit. A boy who reads big books at his age and is a kind teacher as well is an interesting kid.

But strangers do not engage children in public places, so I just sat in my seat, two rows behind him and smiled.

There they were, both learning, though no one made them. Their desire was innate, and they were having a good time.

Finally it was time for me to see the doctor and knowing that opportunities to connect with one another are rare, I decided to say something to him. We must seize our chances or lose them.

I would not tap him on the shoulder or come near him and whisper, but I would draw his attention to me, so that I could share my heart with him.

“By the way, young man…,” I said.

He looked up.

“You are a wonderful teacher.”

For the briefest second he was confused, but then, as suddenly, he understood, and he smiled.