2013-06-25 - 4:16 p.m.
There are times when it only takes a simple task to recall our inner child. Once in a while, we need to be reminded of that wake-up call, in order not to take things for granted and just be grateful. Hold our dearest ones close to our hearts and souls.
It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon at work. I had been teaching English since nine in the morning. My last class - an intermediate level - began at 2:00 pm and finished at 5:15 pm, with a fifteen-minute break in between. My students ranged between high-school teenagers to adults. They were a bit shy at first, but then becoming more active as the hours passed.
We were discussing about personal qualities, eliciting all positive adjectives as many as possible. Before our break, I'd asked them to prepare for a five-minute talk. They had to choose a person - either a public figure or someone they know personally - as the subject. They'd describe the person's characteristics and explain why they admired him/her so much.
At 3:45 pm, we returned to the classroom for the second session. I asked them if any of them were ready. They grinned as they exchanged nervous glances to one another.
When I offered them a short demonstration, they all agreed. I did, after I'd reminded them that after every presentation, the audience were required to ask at least one question each. I decided to tell them briefly about my hazel-eyed best friend whom later felt more like the big brother I never had. One girl asked me why I admired him so much. I told him that he'd always been brave, sweet, and wonderful to me - a great support when I was at my lowest point.
At last, a woman took the first turn. She told us about her strong, courageous mother who had raised her and her sisters practically on her own since the girls' father passed away. A high-school boy also told us about his.
Then a couple took turns telling stories about their parents. The husband talked about his ever-supporting father, while his wife talked about her mother who had passed away with a brain tumor. A high-school girl talked about her brave classmate who had passed away the year before, after having struggled with cancer for a year.
However, what had gotten all of our attention that day was the story from this young woman. She told us about her parents. (Before that, she'd asked the man - who talked about his father earlier - whether he'd ever had an argument with his father. The man had answered no, but I could tell from her strained expression that she wanted to share something with us too.)
In the middle of her story, she suddenly broke down and started to cry. One of the ladies handed her some tissues. She dabbed her eyes while trying to carry on.
"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'm being too much."
"No, it's okay," I said gently. "Do you want to stop? Can you go on?"
She nodded, saying she was okay. Then she was telling us about how she'd had a fall-out with her parents once that they hadn't been on speaking terms for quite a long time. After a while, her father started caving in and reaching out to her again. Then her mother asked her to return home - and soon they made up. She couldn't believe that they still welcomed her back with open arms after she had badly disappointed them.
"And I've promised myself not to cry when telling this."
"It's okay," I urged her. I noticed that her classmates had been wide-eyed, holding their breaths. "It must have been serious."
"It was," she admitted solemnly. I understood that she didn't want to elaborate the problem any further - and she didn't need to. She just said: "Now all I want to do is just finish college, get a good job, and make them proud."
"I'm sure you will." I nodded. The others nodded in agreement too. Then, after a quick but careful consideration, I asked her: "Are you okay with questions now, or would you like to pass?"
"I'm okay." She nodded and smiled. I'd dreaded that some of them would ask her to tell them more about 'the problem', but no. They were sensitive enough not to press her on that, which would only mean revealing her old mental scars from the past. They just asked her how happy she was and what she'd do next for her parents.
At the end of the lesson, I had to tell her just how brave - and lucky - she was. I told her about my father who was still struggling with a stroke. We didn't get along that well when I was a teenager and a twenty-something that I didn't want to talk to him that much.
Now I wish I'd be able to hear his voice again. I'd give most anything for that, even if I'd only hear him yelling at me for being too busy these days. I don't care. It's not easy seeing your old man cry because he can no longer utter a single word.
My students stared at me in silence. They all looked so sad. I sighed and turned to the young woman who had cried earlier.
"We all make mistakes," I assured her. They all nodded again. "If your parents have welcomed you back, that means they've already forgiven you - in hopes that you have forgiven them too."
It takes a simple task to recall our inner child. No matter how old we are, we'll always be children to our parents eyes...
R.
(Jakarta,22/6/2013 � 9:10 pm)
