'To Sir, with Love': What real mentorship looks like

Ma Kyung-hee

Certain songs or films can transport us back to defining moments or people who helped shape our lives. For me, that film is “To Sir, with Love.” Beyond its nostalgic appeal, it stands as a poignant tribute to what it means to be genuinely cared for, supported and believed in. The film, starring Sidney Poitier, follows a teacher assigned to a classroom of defiant students, their spirits hardened by poverty and neglect. Instead of confronting their defiance with anger or rigid discipline, he responds with patience and respect, gradually guiding them into the recognition of self-worth.

What resonates most with me is the film’s portrayal of something fundamental and often undervalued: the transformative power of respectful, compassionate mentorship. I have been fortunate to cross paths with individuals who, much like the character played by Poitier, extended guidance grounded in strong belief in my potential. Far beyond sharing knowledge, they provided insight, reassurance and access to resources I would not have had otherwise. These acts of caring bolstered my self-belief and helped me build a meaningful career. Of all these mentors, one stands out: my beloved professor, John Song.

I first met Professor Song during my second year of college, a time when I was grappling with questions of identity and purpose. Growing up, I was often told college would be a time of boundless possibility, but the reality proved more complex. The transition from adolescence to adulthood brought not excitement, but disorientation. After years in a highly structured girls’ high school, the sudden freedom of college life felt more unsettling than liberating. I drifted through early semesters, unmoored and lacking direction. This confusion was compounded by my experience as a first-generation college student. Though my parents offered abundant love and support, they could not guide me through an unfamiliar academic system. I was the one forging the path and then explaining the process to them, almost as if charting the journey in reverse.

Professor Song entered my life at a critical time, becoming a steady, transformative presence. In Korea’s hierarchical academic culture, professors typically set the tone of student-teacher relationships. Students initiate greetings and professors respond. But Professor Song defied this convention by greeting students first, addressing them by name and making sure they knew his support was always available. In an academic world where credentials often breed distance, he chose to share power with students by demonstrating mutual respect. His approach was humanizing, breaking through formal barriers to create genuine connection.

I, too, experienced his warmth. He regularly asked how I was adjusting to college life and affirmed qualities such as my strong work ethic, resilience and focus. What left a lasting impression was his attentiveness. He remembered our conversations and followed up thoughtfully, often referencing details I had casually mentioned. He even took an interest in my friends and, remarkably, still asks about them more than thirty years later.

Effective mentors often share aspects of their background, as well as advanced experience in fields their mentees aspire to enter. Professor Song was the ideal mentor for me in this regard. Having earned his master’s degree in teaching in the United States, he was uniquely positioned to guide me when I began contemplating graduate study there, without real clarity of what path would best suit me. Financial uncertainty amplified my hesitation, making the idea of studying abroad feel not only unrealistic but almost self-indulgent.

Yet, Professor Song encouraged me to explore possibilities and supported me throughout the process while respecting my independence and decision-making. He even leveraged his network, connecting me with a former student pursuing a degree in the U.S., whose insight proved invaluable. His simple advice was, “Don’t let your circumstances define you. Trust in your potential.” It marked a turning point and has stayed with me ever since.

True mentorship is a quiet and transformative force. It seeks no recognition but leaves an indelible mark, revealed in consistent acts of kindness, respect and unwavering belief in someone’s potential, even before that potential is fully revealed. For those navigating unfamiliar paths, a mentor can be both anchor and compass. Their presence affirms that dignity and possibility go hand in hand, and that the most enduring lessons are not just taught, but lived and shared. To be mentored in this way is a blessing.

Professor Song turned 90 this year. His voice has grown weaker, and his steps slower, but his influence runs deep. If I could say one thing to him now, it would be, “Sir, your faith in me helped me find my way. I carry your teaching with me and will pass it on, just as you did.”

Ma Kyung-hee is an editor and researcher specializing in mental health.