An old man is sitting quietly, when a young man approaches him and asks with a smile, “Do you remember me?”
The old man looks at him thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head, saying, “No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”
The young man’s face lights up, and with a bit of excitement, he explains, “I was your student many years ago.”
The old man’s eyes brighten a little, his interest piqued. “Ah, I see,” he responds. “And what do you do now? What do you do in life?”
The young man stands up a bit straighter, clearly proud, and says, “Well, I became a teacher.”
The old man, surprised and pleased, raises his eyebrows. “Ah, how good, like me?” he asks with a gentle smile.
The young man nods earnestly, “Yes, in fact, I became a teacher because you inspired me to be like you.”
Now even more intrigued, the old man leans forward slightly and asks, “That’s wonderful! But tell me, at what point did you decide to become a teacher?”
The young man takes a deep breath, his eyes reflecting the memories of that fateful day, and begins to share his story.
“One day, back when I was still in school, something happened that changed my life forever,” he starts. “A close friend of mine, also one of your students, had just gotten a brand new watch. It was beautiful, and I wanted it. I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t resist. So I stole it. I took it right out of his pocket when no one was looking.”
The young man’s face shifts as he remembers the guilt and shame he felt. “Shortly after, my friend noticed his watch was missing, and he was really upset. He went straight to you and told you what had happened.”
The old man listens intently, not interrupting, just nodding occasionally as if piecing together the memory.
“I remember feeling a sense of dread when you spoke to the class,” the young man continues. “You stood in front of all of us and said, ‘This student’s watch was stolen during class today. Whoever took it, please return it.’ I felt my heart race, but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to give it back because I was too embarrassed to admit what I had done.”
The old man leans back slightly, his expression thoughtful, as though he’s starting to remember where this story is going.
“You waited for a moment, and when no one came forward, you calmly closed the door to the classroom. I remember feeling trapped,” the young man says. “Then you did something that I’ll never forget. You told us all to stand up and form a circle. You said you were going to search each of our pockets until the watch was found.”
The old man remains quiet, his eyes fixed on the young man, listening closely.
“But then,” the young man adds, his voice softening with emotion, “you told us to close our eyes. You said you would only search if everyone had their eyes closed. You didn’t want anyone to see who had taken the watch.”
The young man pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “We all did as you said. I remember standing there, my heart pounding, terrified of being caught and humiliated in front of the whole class. You started going from pocket to pocket, and when you got to mine, you found the watch. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t make a scene. You didn’t even pause. You kept checking the other students’ pockets, and after you finished, you said, ‘Alright, open your eyes. We have the watch.’”
The young man’s voice trembles slightly as he speaks the next part. “You never told the class who took it. You never said a word to me about it afterwards. You didn’t scold me or lecture me. You just let it go. You protected me from the humiliation that could have followed, and in doing so, you taught me a lesson that I would carry with me for the rest of my life. That day, I learned what it means to be a good person. I decided that I didn’t want to be a thief or someone who hurts others. And it was because of the way you handled that moment that I chose to become a teacher. I wanted to be someone who could change lives the way you changed mine.”
The young man’s voice softens, his gratitude clear in every word. “Do you remember that day, professor?”
The old man sits in silence for a few moments, reflecting. Then, with a soft smile, he replies, “Yes, I remember the situation with the stolen watch. I remember searching for it in everyone’s pockets, one by one. But I didn’t remember you—because I also closed my eyes while searching.”
The young man’s eyes widen in surprise, and the old man continues, his voice gentle and wise. “This,” he says, “is the essence of teaching. If to correct a mistake, you must humiliate someone, then you don’t really know how to teach.”
The young man stands there, his heart full, deeply moved by the profound wisdom of his old teacher. The lesson he learned all those years ago, the lesson that shaped him into the man he became, was simple yet powerful: Teaching is not about punishment; it is about nurturing growth, protecting dignity, and guiding others to make better choices.
The old man’s approach, his ability to correct without humiliating, had left an indelible mark on his student’s life. And that is what true teaching is about—changing lives with kindness, understanding, and a deep sense of humanity.
