These Are the Lives ... Mr. Berenbaum

Certain souls enter our lives for moments. They show their concern, they express their love, and before you know it, they are gone.

I am very fortunate to have had many fine caring teachers in my life. And what is so special about such teachers is not their content area necessarily-in Mr. Berenbaum's case, it was "fractions" ... you know "numerators, denominators, proper and improper fractions," and yes, as a result of his special effort, I did finally get it.

Rather these teachers teach what only a few teachers can and do. Let's face it ... anyone who has ever cut an apple pie into wedges can teach fractions. Mr. Berenbaum's real strength lie in his ability to teach me what it means to be a mentsh, to be a teacher who teaches "children."

You see ... teachers like Mr. Berenbaum do not teach math any more than they teach you history, music or physical education.

Yes, of course they do teach those subjects,  but what they really do well is "teach children."

I have always remembered Mr. Berenbaum, my 6th grade teacher, who was very concerned about me on a few different levels.

Sure I had had other teachers at Dielman School in Olivette, Missouri: There was Mrs. Siegel for instance. A nice lady, she was my fifth grade, uh ... my third grade teacher ... well, one of those two. Mrs. Kahn-and mind you I'm speaking truthfully here-was either my fourth or second grade teacher. I do not recall, but I do fondly remember that my second grade teacher praised me for mastering the multiplication tables, but then delayed my going to the bathroom one day because I hadn't yet mastered the distinction between "Can I ...?" and "May I ...?"

 
I might well have remembered her name if she hadn't caused me to almost wet my pants that day because her earlier positive recognition of my arithmetic skills had been an act of kindness, as had been Miss Bennett's, my first grade teacher, when-having forgotten my lunch on a field trip to her house-she prepared  lunch for me from her own refrigerator.

I guess I have always responded well to kindness.

Mr. Berenbaum kept me after class on perhaps three occasions with my mother's consent and reviewed the lessons with me.

On another level-which reflected his concern for me as a parent himself-but even more so as a caring Jewish man, Mr. Berenbaum let me know he did not like the friends I had chosen for myself. He felt they were not right for me.

A group of us pre-teens was trying to put a small band together. Now remember this was at a time when the Beatles were all the rage. 

Mr. Berenbaum had other thoughts on this matter, and he let me and my mom know about it. He was-in addition to being my sixth grade teacher-my friend, caretaker, uncle and parental substitute.

In other words, he cared about me and I perceived that unmistakably.

I recall him fondly these 40 years later.

Alan D. Busch