In 1972， I returned to Miami Beach High School to speak to the drama class. Afterward I asked the drama teacher if any of my English teachers are still there. Irene Roberts， he tells me， is in the class just down the hall.

　　I was no one special in Miss Roberts' class － just another jock who did okay work. I don't recall any one special bit of wisdom she passed on. Yet I cannot forget her respect for language， for ideas and for her students. I realize now， many years later， that she is the quintessential selfless teacher. I'd like to say something to her， I say， but I don't want to pull her from a class. Nonsense， he says， she'll be delighted to see you.

　　The drama teacher brings Miss Roberts into the hallway where stands this 32-year-old man she last saw at 18. “I'm Mark Medoff，” I tell her. “You were my 12th-grade English teacher in 1958.” She cocks her head at me， as if this angle might conjure me in her memory. And then， though armed with a message I want to deliver in some perfect torrent of words， I can't think up anything more memorable than this： “I want you to know，” I say， “you were important to me.”

　　And there in the hallway， this slight and lovely woman， now nearing retirement age， this teacher who doesn't remember me， begins to weep； and she encircles me in her arms.

　　Remembering this moment， I begin to sense that everything I will ever know， everything I will ever pass to my students， to my children， is an inseparable part of an ongoing legacy of our shared wonder and eternal hope that we can， must， make ourselves better.

　　Irene Roberts holds me briefly in her arms and through her tears whispers against my cheek， “Thank you.” And then， with the briefest of looks into my forgotten face， she disappears back into her classroom， returns to what she has done thousands of days through all the years of my absence.

　　On reflection， maybe those were， after all， just the right words to say to Irene Roberts. Maybe they are the very words I would like to speak to all those teachers I carry through my life as part of me， the very words I would like spoken to me one day by some returning student： “I want you to know you were important to me.”

　　1972年，我回到邁阿密海岸中學，給戲劇班的學生做一次演講。之后，我向戲劇班的老師打聽，這里是否還有以前教過我的英語老師。他告訴我，伊倫?羅伯茨老師現在就在禮堂下面的教室里上課。

　　我在羅伯茨小姐的班里很普通――只是一個表現還可以的蘇格蘭小伙。我想不起她傳授過什么特別的智慧，卻忘不了她對語言、對思想和對學生的尊敬。很多年后的現在，我意識到她是一個典型的無私的老師。我說，我想跟她說些什么，但并不想耽誤她上課。廢話！他說，她看見我會很高興的。

　　這位戲劇老師把羅伯特小姐帶進走廊，32歲的我站在那里，這是當年我18歲時最后一次看到她的地方。“我是邁克?邁德福，”我對她說。“1958年你是我十二年級的英語老師。”她翹首看著我，仿佛這位天使會從記憶里想起我似的。之后，盡管我心中仿佛充滿滔滔江河般的話，卻最終匯成讓人難忘的這句話：“我想讓你知道，”我說，“你對我來說非常重要。”

　　就在走廊里，這位即將步入退休年紀的，瘦小而可愛的女人，這位雖然已經記不起我的老師，情不自禁流出了眼淚，她把我擁抱在懷里。

　　每次想起這個時刻，我就開始意識到我所知道的一切，我所傳授給學生的一切，教給我的孩子的所有東西，都是祖先流傳下來的奇跡和永恒的希望不可分割的一部分，我們能夠，我們也必須使我們的明天變得更好！

　　伊倫?羅伯茨輕輕地擁抱著我，滿含淚水，聲音細微地對我說：“謝謝你。”之后，她看了下我這張被遺忘的面孔，消失在我的視線之內，回到了她的教室，回到了我不在的那些年她幾千日夜所做的事上去了。

　　每次回想起，也許，那些只是我對伊倫?羅伯茨說的恰當言辭了。也許，那些就是我想對所有老師包括我所說的話了，也許，某一天，那些返回的學生也會對我說那些話：“我想讓你知道你對我很重要。”

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