Mon, 12 May 1997
Random Thought: A Treasure
Something
happened on campus last week that profoundly touched me.
Despite the fact that I've been thinking about it on all
my pre-dawn walks since, I am still after these many days
at a loss for adequate words. It was
Wednesday. Class had just ended. I was awkardly lugging a
heavy boxful of student journals across the street that
runs through the campus hoping that my locked,
outstreched arms wouldn't be pulled out of their sockets
before I reached my office. As I struggled to step up on
the curb on the other side of the street, I heard a
hurried voice off to my left yell, "Hey, Dr.
Schmier, wait up for a second. I've been looking for you.
I've got something here I want you to have." I stopped, leaning
backward to counterbalance the weight of the box. I could
feel my desparately grasping fingers weakening and
slipping. I muttered to myself, "What a time to find
me." The student, Rodney, who was in one of my
classes last summer, lumbered up to me holding tightly to
his backpack so it wouldn't fall off. Before I could say
a word, in one smooth motion that would make a Nuriev
jealous, he swung the backpack in front of him, unzipped
a compartment, pulled out a small, crudely wrapped
package, tucked it carefully into the pile of journals so
it wouldn't fall off, and ran off saying only, "late
for class. I'll stop by for a Tootsie Pop sometime."
All I could offer was a surprised, gasping
"thanks," aimed at his back.
I
staggered up the steps to my office, plooped the box down
on the floor with a crashing thud, picked up the package,
grabed and unwrapped a Tootsie Pop, sat on the floor and
looked at it. On the outside was one simple splotchy word
that had bled into the ball of toilet paper
wrapping--"thanks." As I peeled away the soft,
crumpled sheets, I beheld a treasure appearing. I was not
prepared for it. It was a statuette of me with comically
but lovingly distorted features Rodney had carved in the
same style as the statuettes he has fashioned for his
sacavenger hunt exercise which were now part of my
"toy" collection that is scattered all over my
office.
I don't
know how long I sat there motionless, staring at it
through clouded eyes, slowly breathing, occasionally
touching it. I remember that I slowly got up and placed
it on the window sill behind my desk where it now holds a
revered placed along side my other sacred objects of both
students' learning and my teaching. I guess all I can say
right now is that Rodney's loving efforts will be
constant reminder to me our classes are portraits of
ourselves. And, if we really want our classes, as well as
ourselves, to be truly treasured, then we have be
treasures.