Summer is still hot-hitting us as we leave the house, but I keep thinking about Mark Cohen, and Santa Claus and menorahs.
One of the few men to grace the hallways of my large elementary school in the 60’s was Mr. Wolf. He wore a tie everyday with his always white dress shirt. He was the first teacher to call me on not doing my best when I had already mastered the art of doing just enough. On the first day of class he told us that talking out of turn, being unkind to others, and picking our nose would not be tolerated. I was horrified and not just because he was so strict; I couldn’t believe he said “picking” and “nose” in the same sentence.
Slowly I got used to his no-nonsense approach, learned to appreciate his cut-though-the-baloney fairness. He was one tough buzzard and I knew I needed to give pause and attend to his way of doing things. He made decisions firmly, but was just as apt to change that decision should it turn out to be the wrong one. Re-thinking something in light of someone else’s opinion, did not threaten him – even if that someone was a child.
In early December that year we made paper ornaments during art time. Mr. Wolf stood and showed us the sample projects. A large Santa with a cotton ball beard was one choice. A blue menorah with the yellow flames above each of the candles was another. Yes, we could make both if we wanted to. Piles of colored construction paper sat in wait on his desk.
We began choosing, arranging, cutting, dipping, gluing and from the corner of the classroom arose a shriek – Mark Cohen was huddled in his chair, the child next to him poking at him, again and again, with a handful of cotton balls. Now I realize it was probably the squeak a cotton ball makes make when you rub it between your fingers near your ear or even the texture of it, that bothered Mark. Then I was simply stunned that his fear was so great it overrode the embarrassment screaming in front of a room of 10 year olds.
Mr. Wolf subdued the class and took Mark back near the windows. We all continued with our projects. I eavesdropped. Our teacher was laying the cotton balls on a desk and inviting, but not forcing Mark to touch one at a time. Mark was not happy, but was eventually willing, with Mr. Wolf’s gentle encouragement, to finger-poke at a cotton ball, and then pick one up.
To keep Mark’s hands engaged, Mr. Wolf reached for a piece of red construction paper and quickly cut out two triangles and a circle – a hat, a round face, and a beard. He squirted a small spreading puddle of glue, dipped one cotton ball and stuck it on the beard. He encouraged Mark to stick the next one. “I’m Jewish,” said Mark eyeing the Santa head in front of him.
This reminder gave Mr. Wolf pause. I could see him thinking fast when Mark said, “I could make a Hana-Claus.” Mr. Wolf paused again – not all Jewish parents would approve of this – and then reached for the blue paper, from which he cut two blue triangles and a blue circle. Mark assembled the shapes and tentatively filled in the beard with the cotton balls.He even began to smile.
Good teachers think fast.
Good people aren’t so planted in their own worlds that they can’t see the trees in anyone else’s forest.
Thirty years ago, thirty years folks, Christmas Tree Lane in Southern California was miles of lighted houses – many decorated in red and green, many decorated in blue and white, complete with lighted six-point Stars of David and menorahs. It’s not so hard to respect the religious holidays of everyone.It takes nothing away from respecting your own. Sometimes it can even be fun and inclusive.Imagine that.
People in Colorado joke about Californians – how they get so much wrong. But, Hanukah and Christmas?Stepping outside of your own view of celebration and holiness to welcome another’s view of holy, another’s view of celebration? Starting way down in elementary school one Californian, Mr. Wolf, sure got it right.
