Philippians 2:3 — “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.”
It was hard to get a read on Mr. O’Connor.
He was not mean, exactly; he was just tough. He was the kind of teacher who did not smile unless something was funny, and to him, most things were not.
He was a Vietnam veteran and a numbers guy. His math class was a no-nonsense zone. No one expected warmth from him, nor did he offer any.
“It drives me crazy when people say school should be fun,” he said. “It is nice if it could be, but you cannot make school fun.”
That about summed him up.
So, when senior Pat McGoldrick volunteered to help with a student blood drive and walked into Children’s Hospital Los Angeles, he was not thinking about Mr. O’Connor at all. But the second he mentioned that he went to St. Francis High School, all eyes lit up.
“Oh, you must know Jim O’Connor,” the nurses said. “Isn’t he just the best?”
Pat had to pause. Were they serious?
As far as he knew, “Jim O’Connor” and “the best” had never appeared in the same sentence. Something was clearly missing from his understanding, so he started asking questions.
That was when he found a plaque in the hospital that read, “Jim O’Connor, record blood donor.”
Not only that, but when he was not solving equations or terrifying freshmen, Mr. O’Connor spent three days a week in the hospital nursery. He fed, rocked, and comforted sick babies. He had done this for twenty years.
No one at school had a clue.
He had never been married. He had no children of his own, but you could tell he had fallen in love with those babies. They were his.
And now, Pat could see his math teacher in a whole new light.
“I have always respected him,” he said, “but now it is at a whole different level. I want to emulate him. He is the epitome of a man of service.”
Sometimes, you think you know a person, but you do not have the slightest idea.
Sometimes, you think you are learning calculus.
But the real lesson is love.
And that changes everything.