Daily Archives: September 27, 2005

5 posts

“Marino’s Way” by Teri Zucker

I wonder how many women my age would be excited at the thought of how I am going to spend a Friday night. After work, instead of making my hour-plus-long trek home to Brooklyn on the New York City subways, and then watching situation comedies - having eaten dinner, showered, and donned PJs - I will ride swiftly to Chinatown and nervously await a reunion with someone whom I haven't seen in more than 20 years: my favorite high school teacher.

For me, high school was basically where I was held captive, listening to long, drawn-out speeches that test the attention span. Then, every few months, I was forced to retain as much of the information as possible. When I studied, it was as if my head were a balloon filling up with more and more helium. As I took a test, tiny puffs of air would be released. End of test -- total deflation. Minor school perks included hallway socialization and the occasional free-period hangout. Anything more was mainly enjoyed by the various in-crowds. (You know, the people whose yearbook photos had myriad activities noted below.)

In the spring semester of the 11th grade, I had Mr. Marino for the second time (the first having been 10th grade's spring semester), and something magically changed. Though he was a marvelous teacher during both semesters, something just clicked that second time, when I took his special elective creative writing class.

Every lesson was a creative, therapeutic one-man show. His marvelous life experience and unique brand of philosophy educated his students, encouraging us to write. I could not wait to sit down, take pen to paper, and start working on the next project -- or to read his insightful comments that made me aware of talents that I did not even know I had. Usually, seeing lots of red ink on a paper would petrify me, but not in his class. It meant that he carefully scrutinized the piece over which I had slaved so hard, and now he was celebrating the creativity and insight that I strived to effect -- all the while offering carefully crafted suggestions for improvement, as if to say, "You're great, and I'm trying to make you better." And what a wonderful sense of humor he had. When I wrote cluelessly about a "passing siegel" in the sky, he responded with, "Is that a Jewish bird?"

His light brown hair, parted to the side, was neatly groomed, as was his goatee, and his narrow eyes had a special twinkle. He has been retired for about 10 years. Mr. Marino was a chubby man. Well, actually he was fat - and perfectly comfortable that way. He would bike to work when the weather was decent, and often he would ride past me on the street and give a smile and a wave. Students, myself included, would voluntarily come to talk to him after school. Bottom line, he understood and appreciated us like no teacher I had ever known.

Nine months ago he responded quite enthusiastically to a letter I had written. He agreed to my suggested meeting and even said that his wife already liked me "because of all the nice things I said about her favorite guy." Ordinarily I might consider such a remark corny, but remembering this man's incredible sincerity and having met his wife briefly, I found it one of the sweetest things I'd ever read.

I was honored that he remembered me - though he did say he was certain he would not recognize me if he passed me on the street. I quickly quashed that theory (and stroked my ego) by e-mailing him a recent photo. Friends offered myriad reactions to my pending meeting, ranging from "Are you going on a date with him?" to "Why would you want to do that?" Some thought it was a mistake to make contact: Maybe my expectations would not be met. But I was determined. A man who cared so much about his work and loved life so much? I could not see any of that changing just because he was no longer in front of a class. The clincher was when he wrote that we could meet if I "don't mind chancing a few surprises" -- practically like dangling a hot fudge sundae in front of me.

It's almost time, and I am worried about everything: Do I look spinsterly? Bookwormish? What will we talk about? Will my life seem empty to him because I have no husband or children? Then again, I don't think that he and his wife have children, but in any case, their lives certainly do not seem empty.

As our eyes meet (a cliché, but accurate), we stare in awe, trying to determine if each is the person the other seeks. He finally breaks the ice: "Teri?" I let out a cheery and robust hello, and then the three of us come face to face. His wife, Rosalie, also a retired teacher, makes an enthusiastic move toward me, introducing herself and giving me a kiss. I then say hello to Mr. Marino (or should I say Jim?), and give him a brief hug. I feel him kiss my cheek, somewhat hesitantly. He looks pretty much the same, only with gray hair that has thinned slightly. Still sports a goatee. The characteristics I recalled of his wife, in the brief time that I had met her, rang familiar to me: petite; earthy; dark-brown curly hair; somewhat pointy nose (noses have always commanded my attention). Small talk ensues as we proceed toward the Cantonese restaurant one block away. Luckily the weather has been fickle; weather is my old standby for beginning a "long time, no see" conversation. Rosalie is quite friendly, just as I remembered.

I order diced chicken and mushrooms -- but not before lamenting the absence of tomato egg drop soup. I ask Jim if he remembers a takeout place near school, the only one I know that has this wonderful soup. "I think every kid went there after school," he chuckles.

What a pleasure to dig in to the piles of cubelike chicken pieces smothered with juicy black mushrooms. (I am devoted to mushrooms. Fungus, shmungus.) The Marinos are very generous, urging me to partake in their dishes. And I do. Jim raves about the black bean sauce on his clams, advising me to pour some over my white rice. An excellent recommendation.

Before long, it feels as if dining with these people is a weekly event. Jim comments on the difficulty of my job as a copy editor - a real testament coming from an English teacher - and then makes me laugh by assuming that my employment at a Jewish publication means I am proficient in Yiddish. His wife says enthusiastically, "When we were watching for you, I asked Jim what you looked like and he described you to a tee." He adds, "I remember you having a good sense of humor, and I remembered your laugh." Giggling, I hunch up my shoulders and look downward, as I recall him christening "the Zucker laugh." Then comes the question: "I was wondering what it was that made you contact me after all these years." My stomach tingles slightly, and I feel myself blush. I cannot formulate an answer. Why is this so difficult? I try to cheat: "Well, I remembered your old Brooklyn address and tried that, but when it didn't work I did a general search on the Internet white pages." That bought me a little time, but soon Jim came out with "Well, I'm not wondering so much how you did it as why." Darn. I tell him that a friend of mine reminded me of him; awkwardness resumes. "Oh?" he asks. "Why? Do we look alike?" I confess that except for a goatee and Italian descent, no way. But I do say that my friend was once a teacher, and that he commanded an influential presence and spoke fondly of his former students. I really want to tell Jim that this person reminded me of the wonderful English teacher who cared and inspired me so much, and made my junior year a joy, but I just can't, lest the pink on my cheeks gradually darkens, or I cut off the circulation in my hands by wringing them under the table. Needless to say, I find myself extremely thankful that I have not been asked "What were you hoping to get out of this?"

I'm amazed that this loving married couple who are seasoned travelers, often overseas, seem intrigued by me, a very single woman who has never been out of the country except to go to Canada: They're impressed by my total willingness to eat and travel alone, my victory in a karaoke contest 10 years ago. They offer support as I bemoan the grind of online dating (though when Jim says that the world is easiest for "pretty people," I worry for a split second that he is calling me ugly).

I share a regret: I miss writing. It's something I used to be quite good at -- and the main force that connected me to Jim Marino -- and now I feel so disconnected from it, so lost. It might sound strange that I am in this position considering my line of work, but on a professional level I feel so ignorant. Jim smiles. "There are probably a lot more people who are in your position." He says many people will be able to relate, but I am skeptical. "Why would people be interested in my life?" I ask in frustration. "Remember what I would say in that creative writing class," Jim says. "Don't bullshit." Suddenly it's like I am 16 again, sitting by his side at the desk after school. But now I am even luckier; Rosalie is just as helpful and supportive, taking a genuine interest in my plight.

Plentiful conversation consumes the rest of the night. We discuss the school's transformation from one of the city's best to, sadly, one of its worst and most dangerous. (And he wants to hear my thoughts, not just to sound off.) We chat about former students and teachers. How sweet that he keeps in touch with some of them. Jim and I discover that we are both multiple kidney stone victims, and I am surprised at his and Rosalie's enthusiasm regarding the impending nuptials of Erica on "All My Children" ("Everyone knows Erica!"). Sub-stories relating to the Marinos' extensive travel reveal how being stranded in a broken down car compelled them to get a cell phone. I myself only decided to "cell out" this past April. (However, Jim is bothered by misguided cell phone use: "Who wants to be on a bus and hear someone talking on the phone about how they clean their toenails?") Rosalie tells an amusing anecdote about how she thought to have alleviated her homesickness while in Asia by purchasing a jelly doughnut - only to bite into it and find not jelly but red bean.

The night has way exceeded my expectations. Now I know I have been destined to meet certain special folks -- not only Jim but also others who have touched my heart and given me both personal and professional inspiration. But Jim is clearly Charlotte to my Wilbur, and Rosalie is an added bonus. As I hug them both, I realize they have renewed my belief that there are people who are able to employ themselves and their love for life to inspire, while exuding warmth and happiness. "Write something," Jim tells me. And I know I can and will. And someday he will hear it, and then maybe what I could not say in person will finally heard - and felt. As I head to the subway, I feel reconnected with a world that I had abandoned. And I have a newfound appreciation for black bean sauce.

“I Love You” by Rachelle Arlin Credo

I can feel a strange eerie feeling
Creeping deep within with sudden sickening
That smites my soul with disheartening misery
And vibrates into my heaped-up heart all day

It binds my being with a wreath of rue
And hammers my heart the long night through
It shrouds my senses in such an unusual way
And never stops cumbering me with agony

Ah! All day within my heart it cries
And its vexation just never dies
As the demand gets earnest and the craving real
It leaps within my heart to shout and reveal
that...

          I LOVE YOU!

“Remember Me” by Rachelle Arlin Credo

Remember me when I am gone away
Into the farthest land I could ever stray
Where the golden moments we shared together
Will only seem like dreams that can't be remembered

Remember me when the happy days we've known
Will all be forgotten and outgrown
When the songs we sang joyfully together
Will mean no more than a sigh of sheer despair

Remember me when the sunbeams will be dawning
And the tide of life will stop surging
But though the memories of our past fades away
Will you promise to still remember me?

“Rural Morning” by Rachelle Arlin Credo

the sun breaks through the eastern sky
peering over the fleecy clouds
with arms outstretched to heaven
it looks down and stifles a yawn

the rest of the sleeping world springs to life
while I stay tightly snug in bed
sunbeams flare through the windowpanes
leaving a sparkling trail on its path

the sweet scent of the daffodils
sweep the drab shroud of the air
while bees hum seductive tunes
as they bask dawn's magnificence

frisky imps play tug-of-war with my eyelids
and the catankerous breeze pokes my skin
I cringe away from the first rays of light
still resisting to leap out of my sack

the bedside clock wheezes loudly
it's time to bolt out of bed
I rub my eyes from a restful sleep
shaking off the drowsiness from my head

the sunbeams give a lazy wave of greeting
welcoming my presence to its hub
I smile back in satisfaction
complacent of a great day ahead

“A Friend” by Rachelle Arlin Credo

Someone who makes you happy when you're blue
And keeps your company wherever you go
Someone who's there when things go wrong
To give you courage and keep you strong

If you are tired, weak and weary
He is a refuge of comfort and sympathy
And if you're weighed down by great despair
He's always there to lend a shoulder

His presence makes everything else easier
His wisdom to help, his laughters to cheer
Indeed he's the one whatever you'd call
A companion, guide and counselor - one and all!