If it weren't for the mentor（导师）， Rebecca Cruz is certain that she wouldn't have gotten her bachelor's degree．

Ms． Cruz went through a troubling time during her second year in community college． She didn't feel much support at home． Struggling on the edge of stopping her education， Cruz turned to her mentor， Alex Lopez． "He put me in the right direction，" Cruz recalls．

Gisela Bushey is another woman who understands the importance of mentors， and she hopes to find an Alex for every Rebecca． So she designed Critical Bridge， which provides them with mentorship．

And in October， Critical Bridge was named a recipient of the ﹩50，000 Encore Prize， which is awarded by Encore．org， a partner organization that aims to use the talents of those aged 50 or older．

As part of the prize， Encore．org will provide mentors for Critical Bridge． The mentors will work with youths throughout their participation in the two programs connected to Critical Bridge．

More than 10，000 people in the United States are retiring every day， according to Phyllis Moen， a sociology professor． Many of these Americans have expressed a desire to give back to their communities．

"They want to do something meaningful． And there's nothing more meaningful than mentoring across generations，" Professor Moen says．

Dima Khoury has mentored young people throughout her career． She sees mentorship as a personal relationship．

"Take the time to get to know each other，" Ms． Khoury says． "If you take the time to build trust at the beginning， it will be much easier to build a healthy relationship after that， and more beneficial．" Speaking from experience， she says mentors might not always have the answers， but being a listener is just as important．

"I think what helps is something asking the right question and letting them think about it，" she says． "It benefits critical thinking．"

Cruz， now a San Francisco State graduate， has become a mentor too．

"Sometimes we are in a condition where we don't have people to go to； you might not make it out from that same cycle without the help of any human guide，" she says．

But by providing mentorship and resources， Cruz hopes that if such a time comes， students will "make the decision to push forward as opposed to giving up．"

The world becomes a better place when we not only recognize that everyone has bad days, but when we also care enough to act accordingly. No matter what kind of bad experience we experience, we should treat it actively. Fourth-grade teacher Rachel Harder recognized this, and she found an amazing way to help out both her students and their families.

A few years ago, the Kansas teacher attended a trauma（心理创伤）conference. She learned that some police stations partner with schools so they can let teachers know when one of their students has a police encounter, something that could cause them to need extra care or attention. A year after the conference, Rachel had a student with autism（自闭症）who fre-quently had tough days. To support the student, Rachel told his mom to simply text her “handle with care” to let her know when it was going to be one of those days.

The simple method was such a success that Rachel decided to send all her students home with a note for their parents. It explained what the “Handle with Care” system was and how they could take advantage of it. In no time, parents began to show their appreciation for Rachel’s incredible act of kindness. But Rachel’s sympathy didn’t end with her class. Word spread of the amazing system, and teachers across the country began giving it a shot in their own classrooms. Printouts can be found on the Smart School House website, and the feedback has been extremely positive!

Even though teachers can sometimes tell when a student is having a tough day just by the way they’re acting, Rachel said these simple texts allow educators to make minor adjustments in advance that, in turn, make the whole day better for everyone. “It’s important for me to give kids a few minutes of extra time or space,” she said, “and it’s easy to give.”

In 1974, after filling out fifty applications, going through four interviews, and winning one offer, I took what I could get—a teaching job at what I considered a distant wild area: western New Jersey. My characteristic optimism was alive only when I reminded myself that I would be doing what I had wanted to do since I was fourteen—teaching English.

School started, but I felt more and more as if I were in a foreign country. Was this rural area really New Jersey? My students took a week off when hunting season began. I was told they were also frequently absent in late October to help their fathers make hay on the farms. I was a young woman from New York City, who thought that “Make hay while the sun shines” just meant to have a good time.

But, still, I was teaching English. I worked hard, taking time off only to eat and sleep. And then there was my sixth-grade class—seventeen boys and five girls who were only six years younger than me. I had a problem long before I knew it. I was struggling in my work as a young idealistic teacher. I wanted to make literature come alive and to promote a love of the written word. The students wanted to throw spitballs and whisper dirty words in the back of the room.

In college I had been taught that a successful educator should ignore bad behavior. So I did, confident that, as the textbook had said, the bad behavior would disappear as I gave my students positive attention. It sounds reasonable, but the text obviously ignored the fact that humans, particularly teenagers, rarely seems reasonable. By the time my boss, who was also my taskmaster, known to be the strictest, most demanding, most quick to fire inexperienced teachers, came into the classroom to observe me, the students exhibited very little good behavior to praise.

My boss sat in the back of the room. The boys in the class were making animal noises, hitting each other while the girls filed their nails or read magazines. I just pretended it all wasn’t happening, and went on lecturing and tried to ask some inspiring questions. My boss, sitting in the back of the room, seemed to be growing bigger and bigger. After twenty minutes he left, silently. Visions of unemployment marched before my eyes.

I felt mildly victorious that I got through the rest of class without crying, but at my next free period I had to face him. I wondered if he would let me finish out the day. I walked to his office, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

He was sitting in his chair, and he looked at me long and hard. I said nothing. All I could think of was that I was not an English teacher; I had been lying to myself, pretending that everything was fine.

When he spoke, he said simply, without accusation, “You had nothing to say to them.”

“You had nothing to say to them.” he repeated, “No wonder they are bored. Why not get to the meat of literature and stop talking about symbolism. Talk with them, not at them. And more important, why do you ignore their bad behavior?” We talked. He named my problems and offered solutions. We role-played. He was the bad student, and I was the forceful, yet, warm, teacher.

As the year progressed, we spent many hours discussing literature and ideas about human beings and their motivations. He helped me identify my weaknesses and strengths. In short, he made a teacher of me by teaching me the reality of Emerson’s words: “The secret to education lies in respecting the pupil!”

Fifteen years later I still drive that same winding road to the same school. Thanks to the help I received that difficult first year, the school is my home now.