Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/1047605
o A rush of sentimentality washed over me as I walked past the over me as I walked past the o counter and poked my torso on the kitchen scissors I'd left in the dish rack. So odd, I thought, I never leave knives or scissors there…not since Carol. Carol was one of the dozens—maybe hundreds—of people whose simple advice has bettered my life without them knowing it. I'm not talking about the wonderful things I've learned from my parents, spouse and best friends, most of which became the subtitles of my life. But instead, the small gestures or statements that somehow, I was ready to "hear" when they came along. Some of the sages who've touched my life are no longer with us. Others are old friends who I haven't seen in a decade or more. Some were passing strangers whose acts of kindness or excellence made an indelible impact on me. Carol is one example. Before succumbing to colon cancer in the prime of her life, she was a tough cookie; a long-time family friend who became a surrogate aunt to me. Always "helping" me with her chronic advice and criticism, (which I mostly tuned out) a few things she said stuck like cheese on a baking dish. One evening, she admonished me, in her wonderfully peculiar voice, while I was drying dishes. Apparently, incorrectly. "Do not ever put knives with the blade-side-up in the dish rack again, silly! And, never, ever put knives or scissors in the sil- verware compartment, unless you want to slice open your hand, or better yet, want the children to." Since then, every large cutting instrument is carefully left to dry in the nice, wide spaces made for plates, blade down, of course. Scissors, too, except for last night. There was Mr. Carlisle who embarrassed me in front of everyone in my 10th grade math class when I walked in sport- ing the style of the day: overalls with only one strap buckled. "Dina, before you sit down, you'll fasten that other side," he commanded, gesturing to my OshKosh dungarees. I, irritated beyond belief but not a rebel, agreed. After class, the balding, cherub-cheeked teacher asked to speak with me. "You're a good kid. You don't need to look silly and follow all the trends. You'll thank me later." I hear his voice when I have on one too many pieces of jewelry, or a pair of pants too tight for my 53-year-old frame. Two years prior, another math teacher had written me the only "office referral"—big trouble for a middle school stu- dent—that I'd ever receive. It was for not bending my legs when I would pick up something I'd dropped. I was a favorite student of Ms. Lisi's, but one day, she'd had enough of nagging me about my lack of knee flexion. "You're gonna throw out your back someday and you'll hate the pain. Take it from me. I need to give you this referral to teach you a lesson." Call it "non-traditional schooling," or just plain weird, but it stuck. I hear her voice every time I bend in half without using my knees, and also when my bad disc on the lower right side of my back screams at me. My love of neck scarves? That came from admiring Rolande when we used to play golf on foggy days in the '90s. Not apply- ing makeup while I drive? A local neurosurgeon who'd seen me putting on mascara during my former commute and, when we met, told me he didn't want me to be his next patient. My quest to abandon being a perpetual people pleaser? Connie gets that credit for changing my life with a passing observation at a dinner party. "It's lonely on the cross. Time for you to hop off it," she said between bites of Caesar salad. On a recent flight, I was dragging my bags down the aisle toward row 17 when I clearly heard my name being called by a young woman in first class. "Are you Dina Ruiz?" she asked, and I nodded, half-thinking I was in trouble. "I just want to thank you. You were on the news when I was growing up, and you taught me that brown women could do that job…that we could do any job." Her sincerity struck me like a padded arrow, and I recoiled in surprise. I thanked her profusely and, lump in my throat, proceeded to my seat. Guess the teaching goes both ways. Dina Eastwood is a former news anchor at KSBW TV, past host of "Candid Camera" and has starred on a reality show on the E! Network. She is a writer, editor and yogini. She resides on the Monterey Peninsula with her daughter, Morgan. BEHIND THE SPOTLIGHT D I N A E A S T W O O D "You don't need to look silly and follow all the trends." Silent Teachers 44 C A R M E L M A G A Z I N E • H O L I D A Y 2 0 1 8