How 'bout them apples?

The expression "the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree" often evokes the idea that children inherit traits, values, or vocations from their parents. Growing up as the child of a New York City school teacher, this adage resonates deeply with my experience of being nurtured in an environment rich with education and inspiration.?

In the cozy space of the kitchen, the warmth of our home often mingled with the aromas of meals being prepared. It is where I first witnessed the profound impact of teaching. The kitchen table served as more than just a place for family meals; it was a hub of learning and discussion. Here, I listened to animated conversations about my mother's "creative" and often unorthodox teaching methods, and the excitement of seeing a student's “aha!” moment. It was a space where education seamlessly integrated with daily life, illuminating the beauty of learning in all its forms.

At that table, stories of Moms students came alive—each narrative woven with humor, sometimes painful challenges, and triumphs. One evening, while flipping through a book-laden shelf filled with cookbooks, novels, encyclopedias, first editions, and textbook, I overheard a parent share a heartwarming tale of her struggling child, who, through perseverance and encouragement, blossomed into a confident learner. This child, whom Mom believed "was just a late bloomer" reassured the parent that her child will make it to the next grade. When this child progressed, albeit slowly, she saw the joy in her parent's eyes that she was on the path to learning. It was at this moment that I realized teaching is not just a job but a calling, and is an opportunity to shape minds and futures.

Dinner often became a dialogue-filled lesson, with discussions about history, science, and literature taking root as we shared anecdotes about our day. Puzzles and riddles emerge as playful challenges, transforming the mundane into moments of curiosity and wonder. It wasn't uncommon for Mom and Dad to ask me to read aloud from a newspaper or a book. Mom was so clever in asking questions about recipes--especially measurements. How many cups in a quart? Do we have enough flour to make her famous 1-2-3-4 poundcake--maybe you should measure out what's in the canister? In these shared interactions, I absorbed the rhythm of inquiry and the importance of seeking knowledge—values that still resonate deeply and echoed through my formative years. I might add that Dad was a dentist who also taught dental students at Columbia University, College of Dental Medicine. He was masterful in his own right teaching hundreds of students who went on to practice in communities across the country.

As I grew, I found myself enthralled by the possibility of making a difference in others' lives, inspired by my parent’s dedication to family and community. I started emulating my parent's teaching style within my own family, peppering gatherings with questions and discussions, always eager to engage others in the joy of learning. The apple, in this case, is not only a reminder of parental influence but also a symbol of the seeds planted at that kitchen table, nurtured in love and curiosity. Plant seeds for trees you may not see.

In time, I became an educator in my own right. I carry forward the legacy—shaped by the vibrant discussions, the laughter, and the unwavering passion for knowledge that permeated throughout my home. The echoes of the kitchen table live on, resonating in spaces where the cycle of inspiration continues. People have often remarked that at the heart of my work is to teach others, especially the next generation.

Now, whenever I see a basket of apples, I can't help but mentally guess how many there are and how many (depending on the size) make up a pound. I always smile at the memories.