A Teachable Moment

When my brother, my cousin and I were little, Nonny, our grandmother, would always sneak away from the adults and find us with her change purse in hand. She would hand each of us a quarter (which was probably the equivalent of a $5 bill in today’s world) and ask Are you going to spend it or are you going to save it for college?

The three of us knew the correct answer.

I was a visitor at a physical rehabilitation center a few times a week over the course of 4 weeks this past summer.

It was not the most uplifting experience or destination. The hallways of the facility were littered with patients unable to self-navigate without steel-reinforced equipment. It was a sad reminder of the perils of age. The air was thick with surrender.

But not so much on Sundays. On Sundays, the rehab center had a different atmosphere. It had some to do with the bounty of human visitors, but it mostly had to do with the bounty of canine visitors.

Sunday was the day the therapy dogs came calling. It was the day I leapt over people in wheel chairs and walkers to get some loving attention from furry friends on lend.

It is also the day that my guilt bubbled up—and not just because I thoughtlessly hogged therapy time from the people for which it was intended. It was because I realized that my dog Cosmo, who descended from a long line of therapy dogs, had the temperament and intelligence that would have made him a star pupil had I sent him to Canine Service School.

I remained steeped in guilt over the fact that I had denied my goldendoodle his education.

He is the only one of my children without a diploma from an institution of higher learning.

And so that old commercial from the United Negro College Fund replayed in my head: A mind is terrible thing to waste.

And my brother, my cousin, and I knew that my grandmother asked us that question with her change purse in hand as a means to lead us in the right direction. Issuing a quarter was not so much a financial transaction as much as a teachable moment: Nonny wanted us to understand the value of education. She wanted us to appreciate that college was in all ways an investment—an aspiration that required sacrifice. But it was also something with limitless reward—the least of which was pride.

And pride she had—as did we. Especially when we answered I am going to save it for college-- and we could see the joy in her face over wisdom well-understood.