对老师的赞扬

In Praise of Teachers
对老师的赞扬

1972年，我回到迈阿密海岸中学，给戏剧班的学生做一次演讲。之后，我向戏剧班的老师打听，这里是否还有以前教过我的英语老师。他告诉我，伊伦•罗伯茨老师现在就在礼堂下面的教室里上课。

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我在罗伯茨小姐的班里很普通——只是一个表现还可以的苏格兰小伙。我想不起她传授过什么特别的智慧，却忘不了她对语言、对思想和对学生的尊敬。很多年后的现在，我意识到她是一个典型的无私的老师。我说，我想跟她说些什么，但并不想耽误她上课。废话！他说，她看见我会很高兴的。

这位戏剧老师把罗伯特小姐带进走廊，32岁的我站在那里，这是当年我18岁时最后一次看到她的地方。“我是迈克•迈德福，”我对她说。“1958年你是我十二年级的英语老师。”她翘首看着我，仿佛这位天使会从记忆里想起我似的。之后，尽管我心中仿佛充满滔滔江河般的话，却最终汇成让人难忘的这句话：“我想让你知道，”我说，“你对我来说非常重要。”

就在走廊里，这位即将步入退休年纪的，瘦小而可爱的女人，这位虽然已经记不起我的老师，情不自禁流出了眼泪，她把我拥抱在怀里。

每次想起这个时刻，我就开始意识到我所知道的一切，我所传授给学生的一切，教给我的孩子的所有东西，都是祖先流传下来的奇迹和永恒的希望不可分割的一部分，我们能够，我们也必须使我们的明天变得更好！

伊伦•罗伯茨轻轻地拥抱着我，满含泪水，声音细微地对我说：“谢谢你。”之后，她看了下我这张被遗忘的面孔，消失在我的视线之内，回到了她的教室，回到了我不在的那些年她几千日夜所做的事上去了。

每次回想起，也许，那些只是我对伊伦•罗伯茨说的恰当言辞了。也许，那些就是我想对所有老师包括我所说的话了，也许，某一天，那些返回的学生也会对我说那些话：“我想让你知道你对我很重要。”

In 1972, I returned to Miami Beach High School to speak to the drama class. Afterward I asked the drama teacher if any of my English teachers are still there. Irene Roberts, he tells me, is in the class just down the hall.

I was no one special in Miss Roberts’ class － just another jock who did okay work. I don’t recall any one special bit of wisdom she passed on. Yet I cannot forget her respect for language, for ideas and for her students. I realize now, many years later, that she is the quintessential selfless teacher. I’d like to say something to her, I say, but I don’t want to pull her from a class. Nonsense, he says, she’ll be delighted to see you.

The drama teacher brings Miss Roberts into the hallway where stands this 32-year-old man she last saw at 18. “I’m Mark Medoff,” I tell her. “You were my 12th-grade English teacher in 1958.” She cocks her head at me, as if this angle might conjure me in her memory. And then, though armed with a message I want to deliver in some perfect torrent of words, I can’t think up anything more memorable than this: “I want you to know,” I say, “you were important to me.”

And there in the hallway, this slight and lovely woman, now nearing retirement age, this teacher who doesn’t remember me, begins to weep; and she encircles me in her arms.

Remembering this moment, I begin to sense that everything I will ever know, everything I will ever pass to my students, to my children, is an inseparable part of an ongoing legacy of our shared wonder and eternal hope that we can, must, make ourselves better.

Irene Roberts holds me briefly in her arms and through her tears whispers against my cheek, “Thank you.” And then, with the briefest of looks into my forgotten face, she disappears back into her classroom, returns to what she has done thousands of days through all the years of my absence.

On reflection, maybe those were, after all, just the right words to say to Irene Roberts. Maybe they are the very words I would like to speak to all those teachers I carry through my life as part of me, the very words I would like spoken to me one day by some returning student: “I want you to know you were important to me.”