Friday, April 01, 2005

A Great Poem (not mine) about teachers


My mother sat rocking in the shade of our apple tree
And reminisced about her youth,
Of her terrible days in the camps.
I sat motionless, in disbelief,
How could another people be so cruel?
they took her to the camps? She was but fourteen.

She rocked thoughtfully for awhile....
Well, my child, she bagan,
When they took over our land,
They came looking for the politicians and their families,
They came looking for the soldiers and their families,
They came looking for the policemen and their families,
They came looking for the teachers and their families.

My blood pumped hard echoing in disbelief,
The teachers......the teachers..........the teachers.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as stunned as I.
I asked my mother
Why the teachers? They are people of peace.

She rocked thoughtfully for awhile.....
Well my child, she began,
When they take over any land,
They come looking for the teachers because teachers are dangerous people.
Teachers cause children to think, to dream, to hope.
Teachers reveal history and new ideas.
Teachers bring a society to reading and writing.
Teachers cause children to question and teachers inspire action.
Teachers are dangerous people.

I asked my mother
What I should do? I am a teacher.
She rocked thoughtfully for awhile....
Well my child she began,
I know this is difficult to understand,
For in Canada, teachers do not understand their power,
For in Canada, teachers are always embattled,
Made to see themselves as less than important.
But, because this is Canada, you must continue to be a teacher.
You, the teacher, are freedom's greatest dangerous.

Sigmund A. Boloz 1998