The Greatest Lesson

By Beverly Greene

Dedicated to Trudy Norris.

NOTE: This poem is protected by international copyright laws and may NOT be reproduced in any form without Beverly Greene's expressed and written consent.

You gave me a love of literature,
the ability to read between the lines,
the passion for looking at things
in a completely different light
just to see what might turn up.
But I could have found those anywhere.

You encouraged me to write and always
found the time to read my latest poem,
and no matter how bad it was,
you always had a word of encouragement
and a few helpful suggestions.
But I could have found that elsewhere.

You were more than a teacher to me
and quickly became my best friend,
always willing to be there for me
and listen to my teenage angst
when I didn't have anyone else
to turn to in times of need.
But I would have survived without it.

You leant me books that you knew
I would be interested in
and because of that, I learned
why the caged bird sings.
But I had a library card.

You dreamed that I would join you someday,
with a classroom of my own full of students
paying little attention to tonight's assignment,
and though it wasn't the dream that I held,
you made me feel that it was something
well within my grasp if I ever choose it.
But I could have found that out on my own.

You're a teacher and it's your job
to educate and give encouragement,
but those are not the lessons
that I remember most when I think of you.
Of all of the things that you taught me,
the most important lesson is the one
that I could never find in books.

You see, it was not standing before a class,
chalk in one hand, an open book in the other
that I learned from you what I needed
so desperately to know about myself.
It was standing in the hallway,
outside of the classroom which drew you
like a moth to the illumination of a candle,
with an ugly bag hanging at your side,
filled with disguisting yellow fluid
flowing from where your breast used to be.

You looked more worried and tired
than I had ever seen anyone look before.
You had already shared with your students
your current battle with a murderer
and I admired your strength,
but that day for the first time in my life
I saw you for who and what you were
and when you told me about your ordeal
I truly saw myself.

There you stood, small and weak
and I felt completely helpless
to do anything for the woman
who had become not only a teacher,
but a friend and a mentor.
It was like a real life super hero
had been beaten by the forces of evil
and I felt that nothing
would ever be right again.

But then you said the words
that I have never forgotten.
You told me that any person
who was worthy of seeing the place
where your breast used to reside
would love you for who you are
and for the many thoughts that fill
your head and delight your heart.
You declared that you would not risk
your own death in order to retain
the piece of flesh now missing
simply because somewhere, long ago,
someone decided that it was a criteria
upon which women were to be judged.

And it was that day that I learned
the most important lesson you ever taught.
It wasn't in one of Melville's short stories
or even in one of Shakespeare's plays
and I would have never found it in any library.
It was that day, seeing you stand before me,
by all accounts, a broken woman
that I saw for the first time
what it really means to be a woman.

That day I learned that being a woman
is not about the size of your breasts,
the number of the bathroom scale,
or the size of your favorite jeans,
but about being strong and proud
and refusing to feel any shame
when we fail to measure up
to the plastic women in magazines.

It's not about what society might think
or what we hear whispered about us
by people that we thought were friends,
it's about determining what we will be
and how we will live our lives
and having the self-respect
to know that we have the right
to expect that those lucky enough
to be able to share our lives
will look upon us with love
and admiration and desire
not for how we look
but for who we are
and what we have to offer.

You see, of all that you taught me,
the one lesson that I needed the most,
the one that I will be forever grateful for,
was the day when you shared a few steps in your journey,
and without even knowing what you were giving to me,
you placed the seed in my own subconscious
which would eventually lead me to find
out for myself about the millions of years
of proud, strong, intelligent women
who built cities, harnessed the power of fire,
and dared to imagine that god was a woman.

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� 2001 Beverly Greene owns all rights to this original poem.

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