Happily Ever After: The Life-Changing Power of a Grateful Heart (22 page)

Passing on a little sunshine can never hurt, even if it’s for the benefit of someone or something other than yourself. William Makepeace Thackeray, an English novelist, said it best: “Next to excellence is the appreciation of it.”

A T
EACHER’S
G
IFT

Growing up, I always looked up to my aunt Nancy. She had studied fine arts overseas in Rome, and I admired her as a cultured and well-traveled artist—not to mention a fun-loving and beautiful one. The youngest of my mother’s three sisters, she and her son, my cousin Courtney, lived with my mom and me
for a few years—as did the papier-mâché Angel Gabriel she created during her time in Italy. Loaned to my mom to watch over me as a baby, it’s an object I will never forget, something that made me feel safe and loved as a child even if I wasn’t its creative inspiration. It was basically my intro to the arts, as well as to my aunt’s talent.

Unfortunately, Nancy soon realized after her time in Rome that she didn’t have the chops for the visual arts. What she does have the chops for is the literary arts—as demonstrated to our family every year when she and Courtney would write and illustrate stories as Christmas gifts. She has a wonderful way with words and a passion for storytelling, and my hope is that someday she’ll write her own book filled with her inspirational messages. Here is just one of many. . . .

Going to school was hard work, and it always felt like a job. At St. Boniface Catholic Grade School, the bosses came in many forms, uniforms and titles. They included the black-gowned priests whom we called “Father,” the brown-habited nuns whom we called “Sister,” and lay teachers in suits or dresses whom we called Mr. or Mrs.

It was the weekend before Labor Day 1961, and I was about to start 5th grade, and for the 5th year in a row, I was not looking forward to once again being branded as a “remedial reader.” Reading had never come easy to me, and I had learned that words were to be feared. Many a day and night I sat on my father’s lap, book in hand, and I’d feel his arms tighten around me as I got the teeny tiny words wrong, time and time again.

From the first grade up to this doom-felt beginning of the 5th grade, I would brace myself for the reading tests. The nuns in their brown Franciscan cloaks with rulers in their hands
would have each student read a paragraph and decide if they were an “advanced,” “sufficient,” or “remedial” reader. I will always remember the sound of the ruler as the nun smacked it into her palm when I either hesitated or mispronounced a word. You might as well have slapped me across my face—the humiliation was just as de-humanizing.

With every attempt, I got used to the laughter coming from my fellow classmates as I struggled through my assigned paragraph. I was grateful for the occasional rescue whispered by a helpful student sitting behind me, until I realized it could be used to cause me more embarrassment. One year, there was a passage that had the word “applause.” I stopped cold. I heard “applesauce” and spoke it out loud. All the students roared—no one as loudly as my teacher.

After school, I would run home, retreat to the upstairs bathroom, lock the door, sit on the floor, and look into the bathroom’s crystal doorknob to find my friend “Mary Jane” looking back at me from one of the facets. She was the one person I could trust to listen to and soothe my heart. When I told her my stories, she never stopped or chastised me for getting words wrong. She laughed along with my laughter but never laughed AT me, and she cried when I cried. She would repeat along with me: “I AM OK.”

So those were the memories that were whirling through my brain on the eve of 5th grade. When we arrived at St. Boniface on the first day of school, we found out that the 5th and 6th grades would be divided into two. Half of each grade would be placed together and have its own teacher. My teacher was to be Mrs. Ida Smith. I do not remember the name of the other teacher, but it was a Mister (a young married man and an oddity never before seen within those hallowed
walls). Because it seemed that all the cool kids were assigned to his class, I remember wanting him to be my teacher.

To this day, I remind myself that not getting what you want can actually be a wonderful stroke of luck.

In an effort to set the tone for the year, Mrs. Smith’s first lecture was about those tiny bumps that sometimes appear for no reason in your mouth. She said that when you lied, they would appear, and she asked us never to lie to her. If she thought you were lying, she would ask you to open your mouth. To this day, when I get one of those tiny bumps, I question my integrity.

After another horrific reading test, Mrs. Smith asked me to stay inside during recess. My heart dropped. I wondered what new punishment was going to befall me now. She came and sat in the desk right in front of me, just me and her in the classroom. She took my small white hands inside her soft brown hands and our dark eyes connected. I started to well up with big puddles of tears until I heard her say, “You are not stupid.” She told me to repeat after her: “I am not stupid.” She then asked me: “Are you stupid?” and reminded me about those tiny bumps. I sat up straight, and said: “No, I AM NOT STUPID!” and immediately, my tongue made a 360 degree sweep to see if any tiny bumps appeared. Mrs. Smith asked to see inside and said, “It must be true . . . You are smart!”

I felt lighter than ever before.

I felt I had grown wings.

With just four simple but powerful words, Nancy felt valued as a student. With the encouragement of her “boss,” she believed in herself and her abilities for the first time. She told me that that day she was taught that words and people are not to
be feared. Instead, they could be her best friends and together they could write and tell their stories, “connecting one heart to another through lives and encounters and forever moments.”

Nancy never got to show Mrs. Smith how high she flew or thank her for giving her such a life-changing gift. Her impactful legacy, though, lives on through my aunt Nancy and the lives she touches through her love of words.

So, to all the Mrs. Smiths out there who know the importance of a job well done—thank you. Thank you for caring enough to go the extra mile at work and lovingly plant seeds of confidence in the children of the world. Your words of inspiration not only give them the wherewithal to truly succeed as students, but positively influence their futures, allowing them to flourish as successful, productive, and compassionate adults.

Give yourself a break. Whether you schedule it as part of your day or it’s just one of those days when it seems like nothing is going your way, excuse yourself, escape to a quiet corner, stay put, close your eyes, and in your private space, focus on the basics—breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. Give yourself a good thirty seconds to visualize the perfect day and then get back at it.

You may not feel like it when you are dealing with your colleagues at work, but as the author Tony Gaskins said, “You teach people how to treat you by
what you allow, what you stop, and what you reinforce.” In behavioral psychology, it’s called the “Law of Effect”—events that follow an action will weaken or strengthen the likelihood it will occur again. If you allow being overworked without additional compensation, you get overworked without compensation. If you blow off praise without genuine appreciation, chances are that you’ll blow off the hope of future praise. It’s your boss’s responsibility to give you feedback on your productivity and outcomes, but it’s your responsibility to make sure that he or she continues to do so, in the best way possible.

If you are stuck in a job full of negative energy, don’t let it overflow into your home life. Once you leave the “office,” unburden your mind of any drama by meditating, writing down your struggles and throwing them out, or physically regrouping through walking or stretching, before you get home. Your home is meant to be your sanctuary. Keep it sacred.