That You Must Teach Me
By Heather Novak
© Heather Novak, 2010
Dear Readers,
I do not often write forewords, but I feel this deserves one. The story you are about to read is true – well, as true as I can safely capture in a story. The names have been changed, outside of Tom’s, but the events remain intact.
I was honored to work with the international radio show Somewhere In Time from 2002-2010, until we said goodbye to our fearless leader Tom Wilson. Tom had taken me under his wing when I had lost someone very close to me, and he treated me as his own. He taught me everything he knew regarding radio, music, how to succeed, and how to live – not just be alive.
The first time I walked into Brady Elementary, I was in complete and utter shock. I went to catholic schools my entire life. I never had to fight for food or books, I had more toilet paper than I knew what to do with, and we had the most up-to-date technology in our computer labs.
That day changed the way I looked at life. Tom and I made many trips to the school, until it was shut down during Kwame Kilpatrick’s mayorship. I was never able to track down the kids when Tom passed away, and much of the work they did over the years was lost.
I wrote this story so this memory will never be forgotten. For those familiar with Shakespeare, let me confirm that the title That You Must Teach Me is, in fact, a line from Hamlet (Act 2, Scene 2, Page 12). The kids continuously asked me about Shakespeare, so I found it very appropriate.
I want to dedicate this story to all of those kids who changed my life. I only hope that somehow I had a positive influence on them. Also, the late Tom Wilson, who is missed every day. And to the readers who share in this memory. I hope that you will be as moved as I was.
Thank you for reading.
~H
There were no computers, no chalk, no toilet paper. None of those basic things a school needed to educate its students. The library was barren, the radiators rattled then sputtered out, and security guards lined the hall. It took Tom’s grip on my hand to keep me from bolting out the door and back into the car.
“Welcome to Brady Elementary,” said a stern, but sincere voice, breaking through my internal chaos.
Tom reached out and shook her hand. “Principle Janet, this is my co-host Kristall.”
I tentatively reached for the older woman’s hand and remembered to grip firmly. I tried not to show that I was in shock, but I was a middle-class girl who had gone to private schools my entire life. I worked hard for what I wanted, but I always had what I needed. I currently held two jobs: I was a co-host with my mentor Tom for an international radio show that played music from the 1920’s through the 1950’s. On weekends, I dressed up like a mouse at the local pizza place for kids’ birthdays. It wasn’t much, but I made enough to pay for a few college classes that winter.
I stared down at my saddle shoes as we walked through the frigid hallway. Tom had insisted that I wear my promotional uniform, which consisted of a pink poodle skirt, a Peter Pan-collared shirt, and the not-so-all-purpose footwear – I had slipped twice in the parking lot.
“I apologize about the temperature,” Janet expressed in my direction. “We had a break-in the other night, and they took out quite a few windows. This old furnace can’t keep up.”
“I-i-t-t is-sn’t a problem,” I replied, unconvincingly; my chattering teeth gave me away.
We approached a door at the end of a hallway, near a bucket that was catching remnants of melting snow. I did my best not to land face first as I stumbled into an overcrowded classroom of seventh- and eighth-graders. They all had on uniforms, although they were definitely at least second, if not third-generation. Thankfully, the majority of them were wearing winter coats.
“One of our former students was nice enough to hold a coat drive,” Janet whispered to us while the teacher directed the kids to move into a semi-circle. “We’re having a bake sale at the basketball game on Saturday in hopes of getting a few more. Half these kids have one parent in jail and the other works two jobs. Almost a dozen are in foster care. We had to get uniforms so they would stop beating each other up for shoes. And Tom here helped implement the three meals a day program.”
Tom leaned over and explained. “Lunch at school was the only meal most of these kids ate. They were agitated, aggressive, and couldn’t concentrate. When we started the program, their grades went up dramatically and the violence diminished. Now, the school actually pays the kids to get good grades. One dollar for every A, seventy-five cents for a B, and so on.”
“Mr. Wilson!” A little boy raised his hand. “Who’dya bring wit chu?”
“Mr. David,” Tom replied. “I will answer that question when you use your proper radio voice.”
David sighed and tried again. “Good morning, Mr. Wilson. Who did you bring with you?”
“Very good, Mr. David!” Tom smiled. “Boys and girls, this is Miss Kristall and she will be helping me out this morning. Today, we’re going to learn all about how to avoid ‘popping-your-P’s’ while using a microphone.”
“Miss Kristall,” a little girl named Latanya stood up to speak, “Mr. Wilson says you dress like a mouse…” She trailed off, giggling.
I shot Tom a look. Of course he would tell them that. “Yes, I do. Would you like to learn a dance?” I asked, double-checking my idea with Tom out of the corner of my eye. He smiled and I stepped forward.
“Okay, everyone stand up!”
Another little boy, Benjamin, raised his hand and stood up. “Miss Kristall, you forgot say please!”
I laughed and clapped my hands together. Tom raised his eyebrow. These kids were something special.
“Forgive me. Everyone, please, stand up!” All thirty kids stood up and stared at me eagerly.
The morning had passed in a blur as Tom went through the lessons and I helped the younger kids with their worksheets. They never stopped asking me questions about my outfit, where I went to school, and my favorite subject.
“Well,” I answered Benjamin, “I really like English class.”
He scrunched his nose, “I hate reading.”
“I love reading!” Lantanya piped up, vying for my attention. “I’m reading Goosebumps.”
“Ooo! One of my favorites,” I smiled.
“Miss Kristall, what are you reading in class?” David asked. “We’re reading, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”
I bit the inside of my mouth. David was in eighth grade. I had read the entire Narnia series by the summer after fourth.
“I’m reading Hamlet, by William Shakespeare,” I responded slowly.
“You mean the guy who talks funny?” Benjamin asked.
I laughed, “Yes, Mr. Benjamin, the guy that talks funny.”
“Watit bout?” Latanya asked.
I heard Tom clear his throat. Latanya looked down, embarrassed.
“Sorry, what is it about?” she corrected herself.
“Hamlet is a story about betrayal…” I started.
“Miss Kristall?” David interrupted. “What’s that mean?’
“What does what mean, Mr. David?’
“Betrayal?”
I took a deep breath and controlled my thoughts. It wasn’t these kids fault they didn’t have the vocabulary that I took for granted.
Tom and I spent the rest of the day visiting various classrooms and taking the younger students next door to the public radio station. They were in awe of the large control panels, row after row of computers, and the people milling around in a hurried daze.
I heard at least a dozen, when I grow up’s whispered among the children during lunch. I was enamored with their hope, as I watched them eat
soggy chicken nuggets and strange looking applesauce off of Styrofoam trays. The tables were so crowded, the students had to sit sideways to move both arms. David and Latanya sat on either side of me, asking more about books I like to read.
The car ride home was silent. Tom dropped me off with a knowing hand squeeze, and I drifted into the house. Today changed everything I thought I knew. I hugged my parents as soon as I saw them.
“Thanks,” I said.
“What for?” My dad replied, slightly bewildered.
“Just thanks.” I sat down at the table where my mom had just put dinner. I said grace with extra fervor, knowing how many kids wouldn’t have this luxury tonight.
What to read next:
Til Death and I Part – Now available on Amazon Kindle.
Based on true events, this quirky love story features Kassie, a cancer survivor, who run away from her past for the last 6 years. But when she's forced to work with the boy she left behind, her past catches up with her. As tragic events unfold, Kassie must figure out how to love herself again.
Reviews for Til Death and I Part:
“…This story has unexpected moments of heartbreak, followed by even more unexpected moments of uplifting joy. Definitely worth the read for anyone who has ever struggled with discovering who they really are.” – E. Cooper
“I laughed, I cried, I moaned, and I laughed again…I want more!” – W. Block
About the Author:
Heather Novak has been tumor free since 2003. She graduated from Wayne State University with a BA in Media Arts and Studies and a concentration in writing. She continued her education at Madonna University, where she studied Pharmacy, and then Schoolcraft College, where she focused on American Sign Language.
Heather has won many awards, including honors from the Detroit Film Center and Wayne State University for best short film, and she placed 3rd internationally in the American Theatre Organ Society Young Organist Competition in 1999.
She sponsors a team at Relay for Life and the Jacob Michael Davis Pediatric Cancer Walk annually. Heather currently resides in Michigan with her fish Maximus and cat Murka, and spends her free time singing with the Farmington Community Chorus.
Heather loves to hear from fans! You can email her at
[email protected], check out her website www.poprokkproductions.com, or blog with her at www.heatherdnovak.wordpress.com.