My father who, for my 10th birthday, gave me a 500 page book on the “History of Men in the last two million years “ so I could satisfy my curiosities and go on learning.
My mother who made me believe that even with clipped wings I could fly.
My grandparents who granted me free access to every book in the house with no concern whatsoever if what I was reading was age appropriate or not.
My great aunt, the delicate, elegant and joyful lady that I did not become.
My uncle who made me admire the preciseness and perfectionism that I don’t have in me. He was also patient enough to teach me Argentinian tango.
Ms Gloria, my first grade teacher who taught a whole class of six year olds to write their first words with a fountain pen.
Sister Clara Lucia who desperately tried to have us all speak the “Queen’s English”
Teresa my high school philosophy teacher who opened the door to the infinite universe of abstract thought
Manuela my philosophical theories professor at university who, in her 60s, dressed in jeans and silk blouses with plunging necklines and no bra and showed us that sensuous and intellectual could be synonymous.
C. Vieira, professor of European studies who tried to teach us that we should never walk down the stairs. I remember this often when I’m tempted to get into arguments.
Eugenie, the French teacher who declared that life is unjust. It does tend to be.
Marthinus, who was not my professor but gave me books and, tried to make me feel as South African as he once has tried to feel Portuguese.
Orlando who sat with me for long coffees and introduced me to magic realism.
Cesário who taught me to use a photometer and to develop photos and allowed me to entertain the idea that one day I could be a new Cartier-Bresson.
Dorinho who showed me who I could be.
Robby, who saw the restlessness and from whom I learned the importance of staying defiant.
Professor Gironès an eloquent humanist whose devotion for classical culture and the Mediterranean always made me look for the common within the different.
Ivo, Diana, Ernesto and Catarina, the patient, neurotic, perfectionist and passionate dance teachers that helped me discover my dramatic persona.
Anthony, the mentor, the role model, the compass whose idea of me was way too generous. As he was. The one who unfortunately was gone too soon and left without me having the opportunity to live up to be the person he thought I was.
Virgílio, the RFI journalist who wanted me to understand that I should not speak as fast as I think. Like in dance, it is the pause that says it all.
…the calling of the teacher. There is no craft more privileged. To awaken in another human being powers, dreams beyond one’s own; to induce in others a love for that which one loves; to make of one’s inward present their future; that is a threefold adventure like no other.
George Steiner, Lessons of the Masters (The Charles Eliot Norton Lectures)
Stories from A Closet of Errors 