Dreams & Premonitions by Amy Newmark

Author:Amy Newmark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chicken Soup for the Soul

The Mentor

If you want to be happy, be.

~Leo Tolstoy

I had been teaching high school for nearly two years. The job was stressful: I planned lessons, I helped students, I graded papers, and I sponsored extracurricular activities. And I was never happy. I was always tired, feeling empty and unfulfilled. Worse, my co-workers seemed to love their jobs — or at least, they found fulfillment in teaching. My inability to share their joy left me feeling nauseated and guilty on top of everything else. I felt sick most nights and I was sleep-deprived.

That was what I was thinking about when I met my grandfather. It was the middle of the night, and I was lying on the hallway floor—close to the bathroom door, just in case — wrapped in a comforter. I had been fighting hot and cold flashes and had been shivering as I dozed into a strangely still sleep.

And then I saw him — my grandfather — in a dream.

It was a shadowed world, and when I entered I had the impression that I was being allowed in against the rules. It was calm in a way I have never experienced before. In the darkness, a single spotlight shone down upon the world, affording me a view of the only thing I was allowed to see: my grandfather, who had died twenty-five years earlier, a year before I was born.

All I knew of my grandfather was what I had learned from my mother. He was her paragon: a caring, dedicated teacher, a talented linguist, and a loving father. He was my mother’s guide and mentor, her inspiration as a teacher and a parent. I had seen a picture of him once, and I recognized his silhouette. He stood just far enough in the spotlight for me to recognize him, but no further.

When my grandfather saw me, he held up his hands the way a police officer directing traffic might do. He was directing other shadowed figures, and they all stopped at his gesture. When he turned to me, he still wouldn’t let me see his entire face.

“Why in the world are you so worried?” he asked me. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” His tone of voice was caring but matter-of-fact. He didn’t question how I had come to him; he merely accepted the fact that if I was there, it meant that I needed help.

“I think I’ve chosen the wrong career,” I said. “I chose to be a teacher because my mother loved it so much. But I don’t think I have her passion. I’m always tired after work, and I feel like something’s missing.”

He simply watched me. He knew I wasn’t finished speaking before I did.

“The problem is, I’ve always wanted to be a writer— ever since I could first hold a pencil. It’s what’s in my blood, and I feel that being a teacher I’m betraying that dream. I feel like I’ve already given up on it.” I was shocked at my words. I hadn’t even realized my dream of being a writer was an issue.

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