I was a bad student, folks. Not in a “this kid is heading for a life of
knuckle tattoos and back alley shenanigans” kind of way, but more like “she may
not pay attention, but at least she’s quiet about it.”
Yeah. The school year always started
well. I was pleasant. I was polite. And hey, I wasn’t sniffing glue or wearing
a cape and launching myself headfirst off the desk during silent reading time. So, for a time I’d get away with floating along in a calm sea of peaceful benevolence,
watching the clouds roll by and listening to the muffled sounds of reality, ever
so far away. I lived in my daydreams, and it was glorious.
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| Daydreaming in a school play. |
But eventually the daydreaming came to
an end. Maybe it was a zero on a math test that got me noticed. Maybe it was
the lack of completed homework (my dog had a real hunger for textbooks. Seriously).
Whatever the cause, eventually I’d hear the warning tone of the Jaws theme, and see the flash of razor
sharp teacher-teeth.
This pattern continued through the end
of high school—with one exception. I’ll call him Mr. B. He was my seventh grade
teacher, and he was my pivot point.
Instead of being maddened by my hatred
of capital letters, or my left-handed chicken scratch, or my absolute inability
to remember I had homework, he somehow saw me for me. He encouraged me to not only explore those daydreams, but to
put pen to paper and write them down.
Managing to hold his gag reflex in check, he championed every simpering teen
angst novella, every moody poem … every word.
And it made all the difference.
When I was twelve, I decided I wanted
to be a writer. I took a circuitous route to get there; studying acting in New
York, spending my twenties as a private investigator, running a business,
having a family … but that twelve-year-old girl kept beckoning to me. She was
pretty darn persistent, actually. She wanted me to join her for a bit. To let
the water muffle the world and watch the clouds roll by. Eventually I did, and
it turns out she had a pretty important message for me. One I’d like to
pass on to you:
Never
let reality hold you back. And for goodness sake, thank that special teacher
who championed your individuality.
Thanks, Mr. B.
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| I swear I smiled a lot as a child. But apparently not for the camera. |
