This is not a picture of Mr. Chick but it seems right to me.  He was my Grade 10 Geography teacher in 1964 … a huge muscular man with a deep voice.  We kids were told he was a British commando in World War II.  He sure struck fear into the heart of this scrawny, pimply 15-year-old.

On some days, one of us students had to give a speech, but we never knew whose turn it would be.

Imagine a baritone voice saying these words, ever so slowly:

Today’s speech will be given by …

(Then an incredibly long pause, during which my internal organs turned themselves into knots)

It’s 61 years later and the sweat is starting to come.  If I fumbled my talk about the Rocky Mountains, I could see Mr. Chick reaching out and snapping my neck.  Easy.

This teacher became the image of all my fears.

***

Today was my Music Theory class.  It was test day.  Each of us would be tested orally about our abilities in rhythm and sequences of musical note names.  We’d be giving our answers as we read the sheet music of a short piece.  Ten minutes each in the spotlight.

The teacher was naturally speaking in Dutch.  Then a pause … and the word “Ben”.  Student number one of ten.

I sat there loving Ben, praying for him.  My prayers continued for Lamia, Melike, Bruce (!), Jérome, Veronique, Isabelle, Jan, Katinka and Gudrun.  I held them all, one by one.

Our teacher is nothing like Oliver Chick, but 2025 was blending with 1964. 

Today I could feel everyone cheering on each human being in turn.  I hope my teenaged classmates were doing the same so many years ago.

We all need love