What i want to talk about, is something that is very close to my heart, because it is about a man whom i am NEVER going to forget, even though i know nothing about. He may be alive, or he may be dead. He’s alive for me, because he has had a hand in my life, which whether i am conscious of it or not will always keep him in alive with me.
I want to talk about Mr. Mir-Karimi.
It’s funny, and rather beautiful, that when i will give my first class in a few days time, as a teacher, that it should happen to be a grade 8 class. I’m sure most know that i was born in Tehran, and lived there until the end of grade 5. I lived in the north of Tehran, in Shemiran, near Cheezar. I went to “Shaheed Ma’soomi elementary school” for five years, and made many friends. I met my best friend from childhood, Hooman (with whom i have lost contact thanks to my own lack of actions), and some very dear friends, such as [1] sirous (whom, thanks to HIM rather than me, recently reconnected, to my delight).
Upon finishing that period, our family went to the US. We were there two years; managed, with lots of difficulties; and then came back to Iran for one year, before moving to Canada permanently. That one year, turned out to be a very special year in many ways. By that time, i had reached grade 8, and we knew that we would be leaving in a year’s time, so we weren’t too picky with which school to enroll me in, and anyways, it would have been too difficult because we had returned several weeks after the beginning of the year.
We found a school near us, north of Tajrish, called “Khobregan”. It was located just south of Abshar Dogholoo, in the mountains to the north of Tehran, and there were lots of kids from there. I even remember the principal’s name, It was Mr. Sohani. What a great man he was.
I remember the first day of class, like it was yesterday. I was very nervous. I had only recently come back from the US, i had always been the nerdy/geeky type, from the way my mom would me, to my oversized glasses, to the Samsonite briefcase i would use as a schoolbag, and here i was about to enter a class full of kids, which would mostly be called street kids. Not bad kids, but kids from very working classes families, probably the first in their family to go to school or even know how to read.
I remember vividly, my heart on the verge of bursting out of my chest, as i stood outside the closed wooden door of the classroom, waiting to be admitted in.
And once i stepped through that door, i had stepped into one of the richest chapters of my life, memories-wise. I learned so much that year. Until that point in my life, i can easily say i had never actually uttered a swear-word. By the end of that year i had learned so many swear-words, that even today, i can’t actually say many of them out loud. It was a year when i bridged my life from the protective sterility of home, to that of society. And even though i was the top student in the class, and a nerd (as i had always been), i was friends with everyone in the class, even the bullies.
But we digress.
That year, we had a teacher for our science class (as well as our caligraphy class), name Mr. Mir Karimi. He was a quiet man, he had a very nice Iranian mustach, with equal spraying of white and black hair, and he always had a 5 o’clock shadow. He was the one teacher during the year, which never once yelled, never once hit a student. He must have been in his forties, no more, although perhaps some of the lines on his face, or the colour of his hair may have suggested older. His eyes however, were ageless. They looked weighed down. Weighed down something melancholic, and in hindsight with some form of wisdom and experience.
During the course of that year, Mr. Mir Karimi taught us physics and chemistry, and he taught us calligraphy. And he taught us about life. He would talk to us about different things. I loved everything about Mr. Mir Karimi. He would never speak without calmness. He always smiled. He was always interested and passionate about what he taught, and he trasmitted that to us too. Well, i can speak for myself at least.
It was then that i knew how much i loved physics, and that i wanted to become a teacher. Even though for the many years that followed i thought i would want to become a researcher, part of it was because then i knew i would also get to teach in the university. I had some great teachers when i was in Canada, both in high school and in university, those who re-affirmed that desire, but none will ever be the ONE who planted that seed in me, and watered its blossom with his gentle mannerism, his modest smile, and his unforgettable eyes.
Later when we had left, my mother told me that Mr. Mir Karimi had in fact a teenage daughter who was suffering from leukemia.
Never, not once did he bring it up, not once did he come into class not in the mood to teach, never once did he take out his sadness or anger on us. Never once, did he forget the immense duty on his delicate and already overloaded shoulders, of the education and formation of the future, of the children of his country. He came to class everyday. And he came everyday, and shared with us with his knowledge and his passion and his wisdom.
I don’t know if Mr. Mir Karimi had the same effect on any of the other students (i’m sure he did), but for me, what he did cannot be counted or weighed in any quantitative or finite way; it was priceless. If i can do for one student, what he did for me, i think i will have done well. It is because of him that not only i am where i am today, but i am WHO I AM TODAY. He will always be my model in the classroom and in life.
I don’t know where Mr. Mir Karimi is now, i dont know if he is alive or not, but i wish i knew. I would want to thank him. I dont know, but i wish i could hold him in my arms, and thank him. I wish i could tell him that the reason that i am who and where i am, is because of him, and maybe take a bit of the load off his shoulder.
Wednesday morning i will be standing before the door of a classroom once again, and i know that my heart will be pounding and ready to burst out of my chest, as it did so many years ago. And then i will think of Mr. Mir Karimi and i will be calm, and i will be ready, and i will do the best damn job i possibly can.
Here is to you, Mr. Mir Karimi, wherever you may be …
(originally from september 2006).
