I am sure that Mrs. Colling, my third grade teacher had little idea of how an isolated incident in her class might teach me something that would prove helpful as an adult.
One day the principal brought a mother and her 8 year old son to our classroom door. After Mrs. Colling shared a brief conversation with them, she turned back to the classroom and summoned me to come. At the time I didn’t question why she chose me, but thinking back on it years later, I wondered why me from a classroom of over 30 students?
I joined her at the door. A large imposing woman in a long black coat held the hand of the boy who stood silently beside her with downcast eyes.
“This is Peter,” said Mrs. Colling. “He is from Poland and he doesn’t speak English. He is going to be in our class. Would you invite him to come into our room and join the rest of the class? We’ll put a chair beside your desk and you can be his friend today and help him.”
Without asking any questions, I smiled and reached out and took Peter’s hand. He might have hesitated momentarily but he came with me to sit next to my desk. He must have been scared and wondered how he would survive without his mom, but he came. I don’t remember much about him after that. I’m sure it wasn’t long until he joined the boys in their rough and tumble games at recess.
Years later as I found myself the stranger with no verbal skills in the country I was visiting, I always felt a “connection” with the people as I smiled and tried to greet them in their customary way—a kiss on both cheeks, a bow with hands together as though in prayer, a handshake, or whatever the culture called for. There are ways of communicating warmth and acceptance that transcend words! Something I learned in third grade the day I met Peter.
