Ode to Aunt Sally

There aren't many memories from my childhood that stick out, but I have a couple things that I remember about my Aunt Sally.

For my two brothers and I, we knew anytime we went to Aunt Sally's, she would hook us up with bubble gum. There was nothing better than that!

I also remember a book about King Arthur that Aunt Sally gave me for one of my birthdays. I must have been interested in King Arthur at the time and she got me this giant, thick book that was way beyond my reading level, but was full of cool pictures. I ate that book up.

The final memory I have of my Aunt Sally is the one I have been thinking a lot about lately, though. I remember at a very young age, she insisted I open the door for other people. It was a real sticking point for her. Whenever we were out together, she would always make sure I would open the door for her. "Are you going to be a gentleman and hold the door open for a lady?" She'd ask. Well, of course I was going to be a gentleman. Who wouldn't be? I would hold the door open and she'd say, "My, what a gentleman you are. You are so sweet!" I couldn't believe that such a simple thing could get such a reaction. It wasn't long until I was opening doors without being prompted. I would run ahead and open the door for my aunt and anyone else walking in. The habit has been long ingrained in me.

The reason this memory has been on my mind lately is because I have been thinking about the real impact of this tiny behavior. I think my aunt was trying to teach me courtesy, manners, and respect. But, what if there was more to her plan? What if she wasn't just teaching me to open physical doors for others, but more metaphorical doors? As a teacher, I encounter students that are stuck at doors they can't open. I put these doors into two categories; obstacles and opportunities.

The first type of doors I open are doors to obstacles. These doors are found when students encounter a problem that they don't know the answer to. These doors are easy to open because I technically don't do the opening. For example, if a student is stuck on a math problem, I don't just give them the answer. A lot of times, I just have to be present as the student thinks out loud to solve the problem. Sometimes, they require some questions to guide them towards the solution. They do all of the heavy lifting themselves, I just kind of help them along. I am reminded of the scene from Jim Henson's The Labyrinth, when Sarah is lost inside the maze. She is frustrated, ready to give up when she meets a little worm, caterpillar looking thing with blue hair. The worm shows her that not everything is as it seems in the labyrinth, Sarah just needs to change her perspective. That's kind of what I do, get students to change perspectives and "walk through walls."

The second type are doors of opportunity. As an educator, the most important thing for me to do is provide students opportunities to grow. To provide these opportunities, a teacher needs acute vision. They need to be able to tap into student interests and passions. They need to be adept listeners and extremely open-minded. The problem with these doors is that there are so many to open. And, there's always the possibility that once a door of opportunity is opened, the student realizes he or she doesn't want to walk through. Then you have to find another door to open. This can be frustrating and exhausting, but the reward is great when that student finally finds the door they were looking for. When a student is provided the opportunities to explore his or her own interests, and finds one that becomes an obsession, it could lead to a lifetime of learning. Years later, they will remember the person that was there to open the door for them.

It has been 15 years since my Aunt Sally passed away. The person I am today is unrecognizable to the person I was back then. Many old habits have died hard. However, I have always tried to open doors for others. I don't know where I'd be if others hadn't opened doors for me. This is an ode to my Aunt Sally and all of the doors she opened.