Relational Teaching?

The other day I was asked for a working definition of “interpersonal relations” within an educational environment. I hummed and hawed and stumbled a little longer than was necessary to reinforce my buffoon-tendencies. Of the many possible responses which have come to mind since that moment the one I keep going back is the following.

The Mandolin Maker & His Nephew

by dwight friesen

Once upon a time, there was a mandolin maker named Gepetto, (his second cousin twice removed was also named Gepetto and he made the most enchanting puppets; but that’s a different story). He was known far and wide for making some of the most beautiful mandolins. It was said that you could line up twenty mandolins play the same tune and even the untrained ear could appreciate the unparalleled splendor and resonance of Gepetto’s instrument.

One day Gepetto’s nephew – an aspiring mandolin maker himself – came to his uncle wanting to learn his secret. “Please, tell me how you make your mandolins sound so sweet?” he began.

Gepetto took his nephew by the hand and led him to his supply of lumber, putting his index finger to his lips he hushed his nephew, and picked up a piece of wood. He felt it, caressed it, and rapped with his knuckle all the while listening to it. “This piece is perfect for a tuning peg,” he said after a few moments and lovingly laid the wood in the hands of his nephew. “Find another piece that sounds like this and I will tell my secret.

And so the nephew picked up a piece wood and felt it, caressed it and rapped it with his knuckled all the while listening to it and declared he had found one. Gepetto took the wood and listened to it himself, and smiled. “You have a found a very useful piece, but it is not a tuning peg, this piece will serve us by keeping us warm.” Gepetto threw the wood in the fire and picked up his chisel and resumed his work. “My offer stands,” he said as a ringlet of maple fell from his chisel.

By the end of the day the nephew’s hands were slivered, and his knuckles were raw, and he still had not found a suitable piece for a tuning peg. Gepetto, seeing the growing frustration, joined his nephew and picked up another piece of wood, and began the process. This time the nephew thought he saw something in his uncle’s connection with the wood that he hadn’t seen earlier – he studied his uncle’s face and was mesmerized by the way his hands glided over the wood. “I want to be that kind of person” he thought.

In that moment, something of his uncle passed over to the young man.

Years passed. Day in and day out the young nephew worked at Gepetto’s side until he was not so young and Gepetto was an old man. The fame of their magnificence mandolins had only grown. One afternoon an aspiring mandolin maker came to the nephew asking him how he and Gepetto did it. The now much older nephew was reminded of his first day in the woodshop with his uncle. The secret was his now, but not to be told. He was the secret. And there was only one way to pass it on. He took the boy over to the wood pile, and picked up a piece, he felt it, caressed it, and rapped it with his knuckle all the while listening. “This piece is perfect for a scroll,” he said after a few moments and lovingly laid the wood in the hands of the would-be mandolin maker. “Find another piece that sounds like this and I will tell my secret . . .”

peace, dwight