I'm not sure why I was thinking of this the other evening, but my thoughts turned to a few people who had major impacts on my life. One of them was a man named Ian who I met when I was 19.

I saw an ad requesting donations of those plastic pots for a garden sale at the SPCA. I called and spoke to the woman as I knew there was a stack in my mom's garage as well as my own. I also offered to donate some plants to the sale. Then I was asked if I'd like to help out which I agreed.

That was the day I met Ian. Ian was an older fellow who was full of life, smiled often and radiated kindness.He also was volunteering at the plant sale. My attention originally was to the sound of his numerous silver braclets that jangled and sounded musical every time he moved. I didn't know then he had worn those braclets for as long as anyone could remember. I thought he probably had attended Woodstock, as at first thought I assumed he was a former hippie with his long greying hair and 60's type clothes.
People met informally at his home once a week for a gardening club and I was invited.

That was the start of our friendship although at that time - 40 years was the span of our ages. I started looking forward to our weekly meetings at his home with the other 4 people, sitting in his beautiful garden, sipping our refreshments and eating his delicious pastries which he took pride in having baked for the occasion. He always brought out his best china. He always had his old dog by his side and shared his knowledge of plants and shared them with us to grow in our own gardens.

Then one day he shared some sad news. "I'm dying' he told us. "The doctor gave me 3 months". We sat in stunned silence as we didn't know how to respond. He was the one that cheered us up.

Eventually, his illness took it's toll and he could no longer work on his beloved garden as often as he did in the past. The weeds were becoming abundant. We decided to organize a work party and spend the entire day cleaning it up for him. He told me his one regret was not having purchased a Snowball Tree. "Hey, I have two in my garden, you can have one, I told him". It didn't matter that the three months were almost up and it was apparent he was losing the battle. He wanted a Snowball tree and I was going to get it for him. I got up early the next morning.

Little did I know that the rootball on those things is hell. I think I broke the spade trying to dig up the cursed thing. I started using a pitchfork and heaved. It didn't budge. It started pouring rain but I was determined to dig it out and bring it to Ian. Two hours later I showed up at his home mudcovered heaving the thing out of my car. Ian laughed and told me it was good that it was raining as that was the best time to replant it. "Whazzat you want to plant it now?" He insisted he was going to help me.

So Ian and I sat in the rain that day planting that cursed Snowball tree. As we scooped out the handfulls of dirt as both of us only used a small trowel we chatted. The sun eventually came up and hours later we were still chatting. The discussion that day was one of the most profound of my life. We talked about his impending death and his life will. He explained that most people were afraid to bring up the subject and avoided asking his thoughts on life and death. I left that day knowing that conversation was one of the most profound discussions I'd ever have.

Ian died a week later.

His funeral was one of the most beautiful events I've ever attended. I say event as the diverse crowds that showed up astounded me.

It was held in a Jewish School .I hadn't known that about him as I assumed he probably worked in a herbal store or something. Ian was a teacher! The hallways leading to the Gym where was ceremony was held was alite with candles - hundreds of them. His braclets were on display as well as photos and some memorabilia of whom he was -even his gardening tools were on display! He had won numerous awards over the years and they too were on display.

First to speak were members of the Gay Community, next some elderly people, then many young people who were either his present or past students, next were business people, members of the Aboriginal Community spoke too and finally Amnesty International where he had once been the spokesperson for. I hadn't know that part of him at all as I realized we only discussed gardening on our weekly meetings. I looked at the diverse crowd, the variety of people from all walks of life and ages. He had touched so many and I was so honored to be one of them. I don't know why I thought of him last night. Perhaps because he gave so much of himself in such a quiet unobstrusive way - accepting everyone, regardless of color, finances, gender or age. The world would be a nicer place if there were more Ians in the world.

So I'll ask who had a major impact on your lives and why?

My mother and father had a major impact on my life. I was born.

Now I must think for awhile.

My Ian was a man named Milton Sobel. When I was a math major in college, Milton was a professor emeritus in statistics. Math and statistics actually share surprisingly little in common... our relationship started at the chess club. Milton was about 80 when I met him.

Just to paint the picture a little, Milton is the guy on the left, here:

http://www.york.ac.uk/depts/maths/histst......ofer.gif

Now add 20 years, and a very thick New York accent. Also, one of the defining aspects of his character was that he had two tremendous hearing aids, so you would almost always have to shout in order to communicate with him. And he usually shouted in return... not to hear himself talk, but just out of enthusiasm.

He was prolific and brilliant, to be sure. But very humble, and took a genuine interest in other people's education. For example, one day I ran in to him on campus, and he asked what I was studying. I told him I just read about a topic in algebra called normal subgroups, which is something pretty far removed from statistics. He responded:

"Normal subgroups!? You know... I once used normal subgroups in a book I wrote! In fact, I claim to be the only statistician EVER to use normal subgroups! At least to my knowledge!"

I asked him what the book was called.

"It was... Ranking... or... Ranking and Selection of... Look, I don't remember! Who could keep it straight! But I used normal subgroups!"

A week or two later, I ran into him again on campus and he took me back to his office, where he presented me with a copy of the book, and the page with the normal subgroups marked with toilet paper. He was no-nonsense like that.

He had an extremely delightful childlike innocence about the world. He loved statistics above and beyond all else, and was always working on an interesting, significant problem. But he worked the way kids play games: the reward wasn't to write a book or publish a paper, but rather just the pleasure of solving a problem. Even in life beyond statistics, he was so cheerful. This stood in stark contrast to some of his stories, which often ranged into the truly horrific. But when he told them, you see him as this half-bumbling Forrest Gump-like character just tiptoeing through life without a care in the world.

For example, he was a PhD student at Columbia University in New York. Just as Milton was about to finish his thesis, his advisor (a guy named Abraham Wald) went on a trip to Berkeley. As Milton tells the story, the trip came as a complete surprise to him. Milton finished his thesis just a few days after Wald left for California, and didn't feel like waiting for Wald to come back. So he (Milton) hitch-hiked from New York to California, so he could show Wald the finished thesis! They overlapped for only a few days before Wald was headed back out of town, but Wald provisionally approved the thesis. Sadly, Wald died in a plane crash in India before he could sign off on Milton's thesis.

When Milton tells the story, he always ends it, "Yeah... then that guy died!" He has a disturbing amount of "then that guy died!" stories, but through his eyes they're never sad.

A little more uplifting story that really illustrates Milton's character. At one point in the prime of his career, he was invited to give an important lecture at the Sorbonne. A short time before the lecture, the conference organizer asked him if he'd be giving the lecture in English or in French. He responded, "Well... I don't know any French, so I guess English!" But then a few minutes later, he realized... here he is at the Sorbonne, and he'll probably never have this opportunity to give a lecture here again, so he went back to the conference organizer:

"I changed my mind! I'm giving the talk in French, but I need your help!"

"But... but you don't speak French."

"Exactly! But my talk is very technical. I know how to say all the numbers and the formulas and stuff. I just need some filler! Teach me some filler in French! Like... 'therefore,' and 'the next step is' and things like that!"

So, after his 10 or so minutes of tutorial, he proceeded to give his lecture in... what might charitably be called French.

Even after I graduated from college, I kept up with him. We would exchange puzzles... usually chess puzzles or math puzzles. One day, he didn't respond to a puzzle I thought was actually pretty interesting. At some point I realized... oh no, I should check obituaries. Sure enough... that guy died!

I have a long way to go before I hit my 80s, but I aspire to be what he was at his age.

Thank you MobilityBundle! Bob1Dog I am looking forward to see a future post from you.

I really enjoyed reading about Milton and the impact he had on your life, MobilityBundle. What a wonderful story you wrote! I appreciate you spent time writing about a mentor in your life.

The other person I'd like to write about is a young man named Robert, who I met for the first time when he was 9. Robert fell under the autism diagnosis and I was assigned to work with him one year. The other teachers immediately told me what a horrible child he was, nothing positive was said about him. I was shocked to hear about their attitudes - this was a little kid they were talking about! Only the principal appeared to have a genuine affection for him.

Although Robert's parents informed us he could speak (40% of children with autism don't) no one at the school had ever heard him as he would often growl, scream or make grunt like sounds when agitated. His parents insisted he was Aspergers, a higher functioning form of Austim.

I looked at his file and saw the note - Robert enjoys magic, animals and nature. I was excited as these interest were exactly my own!

Thus started my relationship with someone who would have a definate impact on my life. For the first year I chatted about a number of topics but I wasn't sure if he was paying attention to me or not. One day he became particularly agitated and I took him out in the hallway for a walk. He screamed and the PE teacher came running and grabbed him in what can be described as a stronghold (OMG!) He held him in a tight grip from behind and Robert raised his leg and his foot made impact with a tender spot and the PE teacher went down. Next came the Vice Principal and Robert promptly punched him in the nose - he also reeled back in pain and the imprint of his glasses was left on the bridge of his nose. He then started moving his foot (resembling a bull) lowered his head and plowed me in the stomach causing me to hit the wall and fall down. The rest was pandamonium with various agencies being called, his parents, and members of the school district. I'll never forget the look of pain in his mothers eyes. It was agreed that under no circumstance was he ever to be restrained like that and that I would solely be the one responsible as I somehow managed to calm him down. Later I would look back on that day with perversed glee...a 10 year old took on 3 adults and won!
From that day on no one was allowed to interfere unless I asked for help. I never had to, as I knew his screams were a way of relieving stress and that there were other factors unknown to me at the time that were causing this. Ironically, the majority of the day he was quiet I noticed he was a voracious reader and I'd notice a slight smile when he read Shell Silverstein poems.

By the second year, he started talking to me when no one was around. I started spending my lunch hour with him discussing all sorts of topics but he still didn't talk to anyone else. One day he was working on an biography on Dr Suess and the book showed a drawing of Dr Suess as a child, his drawings ripped and on the ground surrounded by taunting kids. Robert blurted out "that's me!" They tease me, they hurt me, they laugh". "You don't know what it's like in my world!' he wailed. My heart broke for him and I was shocked as I had never seen anything nor had anyone else reported any incidents. Other than anger I had never seen any other emotion from him. The kids in his class were kind and respectful to him. His sister waited for him outside of the school and brought him home daily. When was this happening? I told him I was on his side and I would make sure it never happened again but he had to tell me. He accused me of being just like the others - that I didn't believe him. "What's it like in your world? I asked. The floodgates opened up that day and he described the anquish he felt when the fan in the room two doors down drove him insane with it's constant drone, the open door on sunny days that sent a breeze in the classroom made the hair on his arms move and it hurt (children with autism often experience extreme sensory overload), the way adults treated him, but especially how he was always being blamed when he was outside at recess. He continued and to this day I was profoundly changed by that discussion. I knew most of what he was telling me from my education but I had never heard anyone with austism actually describe what it was like to be "in their world".

I realized that he often appeared stressed after recess and although the supervision aids kept an eye on him that must be when it was happening. I spoke to the principal and told him I planned to "peak" out the window shades of the classroom to observe unseen and unobserved. Time after time I saw children teasing him. These weren't his classmates as they had always been respectful of him. This was little 6 years olds that either didn't know better and enjoyed seeing his reaction. Robert was left screaming and the supervision aid usually brought him in for "misbehavior" as the other kids had long scattered.Robert would be left feeling frustrated and screamed in frustration. That day I went out each time and gathered up and brought them in the principals office. In 15 mins I had gathered up 16 children and each time I told Robert I'm on your side and I believe you. The same children had also teased him outside the front doors of the school while he was waiting for his sister. As he didn't look disabled and these children were smaller - no one had noticed.

Then the moment when I was so proud of him - with the principals encouragement - Robert faced his tormentors and spoke. He speech was stilted but the meaning was clear. The principal was in awe of what had occurred. He also told Robert he was on his side and believed him. The little kids were educated as that was the purpose. Word got around what happened and Robert became a much happier child.

Our third year together while he didn't laugh or still express emotion much he spoke of so many subjects - he was brilliant! I realized he had a photographic memory.His art work and sculptures were unlike I've ever seen and could be someday displayed in Galleries. I advocated for a gifted program. He made the honor roll his first year of high school! He's now in Grade 11 and continues to make the honor roll.

I still continue my relationship with him and his family and often sit at his family's table with him. I'm thankful he allowed me to view "his world" and allowed me to gain a better understanding from his perspective, although he only did that one time. I still consider that day to have a major impact on my life.

Chrystal, from the two stories you have told, I would say that YOU have made a major impact on at least two people.