I applauded as the kids onstage bowed. I was so happy for Summer.
"The final award
this morning," said Mr. Tushman, after the kids onstage had returned
to their seats, "is the Henry Ward Beecher medal to honor students who have been
notable or exemplary in certain areas throughout the school year.
Typically, this medal has been our way of acknowledging volunteerism or service to the
school." I immediately figured Charlotte would get this medal
because she organized
the coat drive this year, so I kind of zoned out a bit again. I looked at my watch: 10:56. I
was getting hungry for lunch already.
". . . Henry Ward Beecher was, of course, the nineteenthcentury abolitionist
—and fiery
sermonizer for human rights
—after whom this school was named," Mr. Tushman was
saying when I started paying attention again.
"While reading up on his life in preparation for
this award, I came upon a passage that
he wrote that seemed particularly consistent with the themes I touched on earlier,
themes I've been ruminating upon all year long. Not just the nature of kindness, but the
nature of one's kindness. The power of
one's
friendship. The test of
one's
character.
The strength of
one's
courage
—"
And here the weirdest thing happened: Mr. Tushman's
voice cracked a bit, like he got
all choked up. He actually cleared his throat and took a big sip of water. I started paying
attention, for real now, to what he was saying.
"The strength of one's courage," he repeated quietly, nodding and smiling. He held up
his right hand like he was counting off. "Courage. Kindness. Friendship. Character.
These are the qualities that define us as human beings, and propel us, on occasion, to
greatness. And this is what the Henry Ward Beecher medal is about: recognizing
greatness. "But how do we do that? How do we measure something like greatness?
Again, there's no yardstick for that kind of thing. How do we even define it? Well,
Beecher actually had an answer for that."
He put his
reading glasses on again, leafed through a book, and started to read. "
'Greatness,' wrote Beecher, 'lies not in being strong, but in the right using of strength. . .
. He is the greatest whose strength carries up the most hearts . . .' "
And again, out of the blue, he got all choked up. He put his two index fingers over his
mouth for a second before continuing.
" 'He is the greatest,' " he finally continued, " 'whose strength
carries up the most hearts
by the attraction of his own.' Without further ado, this year I am very proud to award the
Henry Ward Beecher medal to the student whose quiet strength has carried up the
most hearts.
"So will August Pullman please come up here to receive this award?"
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