Every year on Election Day, I greet dozens, sometimes hundreds, of voters at polling locations across our city. This year, while standing outside Pembroke Elementary School, a kind woman approached me and introduced herself. She asked if I knew someone named Max Delahanty.
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the face. She smiled and said, “My son Max has mentioned you several times. You two were in the same second grade class at King Street Primary School. Max was given the assignment to read to and with you.”
And just like that, the memories came rushing back.
When my family immigrated here, I was 7 years old and started 2nd grade at King Street Primary. I didn’t speak a word of English and certainly couldn’t read it. I remember how scared and overwhelmed I felt in a new country, a new school, surrounded by words I couldn’t yet understand.
But I also remember a classmate, patient, kind, and friendly, who sat beside me and slowly read the words aloud. That classmate was Max. He helped make a very difficult time a little easier. I’m sure it was our teacher, Mrs. Gleissner (who is still devotedly teaching at that same school), who paired us together.
Thirty years later, standing at the polls, hearing his name again brought back a reminder of the difficulties my family faced in those days and how our community embraced us then. Max is now living in Colorado with his wife and child, and I hope to reconnect someday. I took this picture with his mom and asked her to text it to him. He should know that how much he helped me. There are so many in our community in the same situation. His small act of kindness meant the world to a scared little boy trying to find his place in a new home.
If only we all looked at one another with the same compassion that children do, the world would be a much more peaceful place. |
|
