Chicken Soup for the Soul Celebrates Teachers Read Free

wandering off and becoming lost in the busy city. This floor made my students the most nervous.
    We sang beautifully on the first two floors. The residents loved our songs and the cards that we left with them. My students were truly feeling the holiday spirit as we entered the elevator to take us to the third floor. Their apprehensions quickly set in as we stepped off the elevator and into the lobby of the third-floor unit. As the residents were put into their chairs for our performance, my selfish mind asked itself, What good will we do here? These people don’t recognize that we are even here. How are they going to appreciate our singing?
    As we began singing, most of the residents stared off at the walls or floor. It seemed as though my premonition was going to be right. However, one lady caught my eye. She was sitting by the door, in a wheelchair, singing songs to herself. They weren’t the songs that we were singing, at least they didn’t sound like it. As we got louder with each festive song, she did likewise. The louder we got, the louder she got. As she was singing, she was also reaching out to us with her hands and body. I knew that I should have gone over to her, but I thought that my responsibilities were to my students. People who worked at the care center could attend to her, I thought. Just when I stopped feeling guilty about not giving her the attention she needed, one of my students, Justin Proctor, showed me what the holiday season is really about.

    Justin noticed the same lady by the door. The difference between us is that he acted on her needs, and I didn’t. During the last song, “Silent Night,” the lady was singing the loudest that her lungs could let her. She was reaching out as far as she could, almost to the point of falling out of her wheelchair. Justin stopped singing. He walked over to her and grabbed her hand and held it during the rest of the song. He looked this aged lady in her eyes and with his actions said, “You are important, and I will take my time to let you know that.”
    This tired, elderly lady seemed to regain, if only for a moment, what she had lost—her memory. She stopped singing and held his hand. She then took her other hand and put it up to his face. She touched his cheek. Tears began to fall down her wrinkled face, as the memories—for that brief moment—began to rush back into her mind. No words can completely portray that poignant moment. It took a boy to teach me, a man, about kindness and love. Justin’s example of complete, selfless compassion toward another was a lesson that I will never forget. He was the teacher that day, and I consider myself lucky to have witnessed his lesson.
    Mike Ashton

CLARISSA’S SPACE
    I was the new teacher at school, and Clarissa—a gangly, somewhat grouchy fifth-grader—was messy. Clarissa saw no need for order. The more she was asked (even nicely) to straighten up her space, the messier she left it. The more she was reminded sternly to get her space straightened up, the harder she crammed her books, papers, pencils, last week’s snack and everything else into her desk.
    â€œIt’s my space!” was most often her response to any reprimand or request from classmates. At times, I was sure I saw a glint of pleasure in her eyes as she dropped a used tissue onto the floor near her desk just to watch her neighbor’s reaction.
    So the days went by, with Clarissa’s space creeping ever slowly into the sacred learning space of my other students. This situation couldn’t go on. The complaints began to worsen.
    â€œGood grief! Her stuff is everywhere!” they cried.
    â€œClarissa, get your purse out of the aisle. I’m tired of tripping over it!” they’d say. I realized she was beginning to alienate herself from her peers. I had to come up with a solution.
    One afternoon after she had left, I sat enjoying the peaceful moment that is bliss for all