A look, a gesture, a phrase - we are exposed to millions of them throughout the course of a year. Some will stay with us like warm fuzzy blankets, while others will nudge uncomfortably at our subconscience like gravel in our shoes. And yet others will instantaneously melt away, as if they hadn’t happened at all.

As the year winds to a close, I eagerly anticipate the opportunity to reflect back on some of these encounters and compose my annual list of most influential people of 2006.

Last year’s list included a three-year-old from Toronto, an underprivileged mom from Regina and a traveler from Britain.

This year’s list is far less exotic and much closer to home, with the two candidates both residing in Regina. However , both of these individuals have left an indelible mark on my soul, despite the fact that one is a complete stranger and one is a relatively new friend.

I’ll start with Marilyn. Marilyn entered my humble small-town world in the spring of 2003. The first encounter was rather uneventful and took place over the phone after I had naively called the University of Regina to see if they could offer classes in our decidedly rural community. Marilyn politely explained to me that it was not in the university’s mandate to offer classes in rural towns, and even if it was, there would be no funding for such undertakings.

‘Okay, fine,’ I remember thinking to myself. ‘Well then, I’ll just hang up and we’ll let this conversation fall into the ‘instantaneously-melts-away’ category.’

But, before I hung up, Marilyn asked if she might come to our rather ordinary town of 500, just to take a look.

‘Sure,’ what would be the harm in that, apart from the fact that there was precious little to impress her with once we got passed the rink, the pool and the Co-op grocery store.

Marilyn did drive to Montmartre that day, and she managed to say a phrase that has stuck with me ever since. A phrase that has guided my adventures into community development and a phrase that has accompanied me through thick and thin over the last four years.

Marilyn said, ‘anything is possible.’ Yes, just those three simple words. But the crucial element here is that she meant them. She really, really meant them.

Low and behold, over the last four years we have worked with Marilyn to offer over 120 classes in seven different communities, educating well over 1,200 students.

Dr. Marilyn Miller, Director of the U of R Centre for Continuing Education, retires this month. And so, as I reflect back on influential people in 2006, I can’t help but think of my dear new friend Marilyn and the three little words that changed an educational landscape for an entire rural area.

Next comes Ishrat Naqvi, a complete stranger to me when I met him just two weeks ago. Now, Ishrat is an amazingly remarkable and brilliant man. This retired professor emeritus of physics can impress one on many, many accounts. He is obviously a physics genius, he is working on a book concerning the theory of relativity and he has numerous degrees and honours which might be arranged neatly behind his titles of doctor and expert.

But, you see, it was not Ishrat’s incredible intelligence that impressed me. It is his incredible compassion that has left the lasting impression.

In our short conversation over cocktails and canapés, Ishrat told me about his children, and in particular, about his youngest child. This child came to him out of an act of kindness, an act of goodwill, an act of selflessness that will stay with me as a reminder of the greater good.

Upon a trip to India, Ishrat learned that one of his friends had passed away, leaving a 22-year-old son. Ishrat was asked if he would bring the boy to Canada, give him an education and give him a new life. Ishrat, of course, agreed. Ishrat and his wife fell in love with the boy, seeking to adopt him at the ripe old age of 22. They could not, as adoption processes in Canada are only for children 18 and under. So, Ishrat did not adopt the boy, but he says this of the grown son who now has given Ishrat two grandchildren and is a shining light in the lives of the Naqvis.

‘He is not our son on paper, but he is our son in our hearts.’

And so, if we each could create a space as big as Ishrat’s in our hearts, I can’t help but think that the world would be a better and more accepting place.

All of the best to you in 2007 - may it be a year filled with memorable looks, gestures and phrases.

Christalee Froese welcomes comments at lcfroese@sasktel.net

Christalee Froese - Opinion
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