He sits next to my computer. A little wooden black bear. He first belonged to my father who collected any and everything carved out of wood. Dad had everything from ducks to a child sleeping on an oxen. If it was carved from wood, he bought it. While I loved all my father’s woodcarvings, the little black bear was and is my favorite.
This little carved bear walks on all fours with his nose toward the ground. His eyes are big and open. And, his ears look perked up as if he is listening while he wanders along his way, fur rumpled as if he just took a dip in some rushing river. At a time when life was difficult, this little bear became a symbol, a reminder of something I don’t want to ever forget. Here is the lesson of my little black bear.
I have the on-going challenge of being able to stay on my legs and walk. I have lost the use of my legs three times in my life. Not to walk is very much like living half a life. I see persons in wheel chairs and admire how they get through the day, because once I lived in a wheel chair. Not for a long time but long enough to make me want to leave it.
Yes… I am a person who stood and walked on my own legs, and then lost it. I knew the pleasure it was to look others in the eye. When I was confined to the wheel chair, I found it remarkable that all adults talked to me as if I were not an adult. And all children gathered round me as if I was made of honey: they couldn’t get enough of me. I wanted adult conversations but the adults engaged me as if my IQ dropped several points along with my height as I sat in that chair. At first I tried to fight it, but there is no fighting prejudice. When people have a thing in their head about you, they don’t hear your objections. They only hear the sound of their own decisions and who THEY believe you are.
This longing but being left out gets old. And one day as I sat in Dad’s office. I got discouraged enough to want to change it. So I prayed for it. As I finished that prayer I happen to lay eyes on the carved bear. His little presence kept making me stare… and in one of those moments the words “Let it go” traveled across my mind. The more I considered this bear… his body posture and his demeanor, the more that sentence made its home inside me.
So I began to make myself happy with the company of the many children who would surround me wherever I went. I opened myself up to the world they lived in and found myself welcome. I was still Mrs. Temple the teacher, but I was also their buddy Mrs. Temple. They would run over to show me the things they made in class and tell me all about their days.
Late one afternoon, a little girl sat down beside me and told me about her life at home. Fighting. Crying. Bad words said between her parents. She told me how much she loved to be with me because I looked at her. “You see me, Mrs. Temple. I don’t think my parents do.” Well, I think the fact that I was a little closer to the ground probably helped her talk to me. But also, I was learning to listen to children and be less busy with my adult life.
Why is it that these children, who are so beautifully gracing our lives, are the last thing we consider? I knew her parents loved her. I knew her parents. But there is this thing that we fail to do… we fail to sit down or kneel down to their level. We fail to shut our mouths and open our eyes to the world of these little ones. Instead we tolerate them until they finish so we can go on, with our own business. And oh, how they need us to love them at their level. We must forget our own lives long enough to be a part of theirs. This is what the children did for me.
It was these lovable munchkins who took time to encourage me when I was trying to learn to walk again and be out of that chair. They took time for me, an adult. As I struggled back to that upright position and relearned the art of one foot in front of the other, I constantly reminded myself that I must be like the bear and not forget the lessons I’d learned while confinement was mine.
He sits near me just now. He has no name. He is just the black bear. But he carries to me every day the reminder: Children need me to kneel, open my eyes and ears… to see and listen. And as I walk slowly sensing my surroundings, I must recall that I too was a child who wanted to be heard and seen. It’s my turn to give back. It is not charity to do this, but instead it is my place and my honor.
May you do the same, when children are in your presence.
Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple