There are few educators that leave a lasting impression on you. Especially for years after you sat in their classroom, hearing their wisdom for the first time. And you would also think that these individuals would be professors, with high and mighty degrees, even doctorates. Those that are teaching in the elite intellectual world where not everyone finds themselves after high school.
However, the educator that has impacted me the most, still, after almost three full years of college, is my high school English teacher. I still remember the first day of my Junior year of high school and walking into my fourth hour language arts class. I knew after that first day that this teacher expected a lot from his students, and he wasn’t going to tolerate any nonsense. I knew I would be challenged.
Before that, language arts was one of my least favorite classes. I disliked the reading, the writing, and the constant struggle to produce fresh ideas and satisfactory content. But this was the year that we read "Gatsby," "Catcher in the Rye," and more. This teacher introduced us to the works of transcendentalist writers such as Emerson and Thoreau, and showed us the movie Into the Wild to go along with it. This was the year that I found my voice. My writing voice.
This was a turning point in my life. I shifted from feeling like I was never a good enough writer to succeed in a high school course, to writing almost daily. I went from hating the writing process, to creating a process all of my own to fit my style and needs. This was the time when someone saw talent in me, and pushed me to refine and pursue it.
I find myself, four years later, with only three semesters of college left. Being pushed and pulled by difficult college courses, and enjoying the challenge. But yet, still never having felt the same feeling as I did from my Junior year of high school when I truly felt that someone believed in me.
I find myself, four years later, writing for The Odyssey, being published in a student-produced magazine, creating my own blog, writing poetry daily, and carrying with me the mind of a poet. I walk through a field, a store, my college campus, and I instantly think of poems and short stories I could write about the things I see before me. I walked through a boutique, saw a velvet dress, and penned this poem into my phone before the thoughts escaped me:
I love the feel of velvet,
I love the feel of mountain air,
I love the feel of the Gulf Coast breeze
rustling through my windswept hair.
I love the feel of mornings,
I love the feel of coming home,
I love the feel of warm mocha
in a cafe as I thought my thoughts roam.
I love the feel of comfort,
I love the feel of you,
I love the feel of the way you love me
always intentional and right on cue.
I wrote this more quickly than you would think is possible. I wrote it with an open mind and a zest for how you can transform words into little fireworks that dance and explode on a page. I wrote to fill any void in my soul and to bring my longing for creativity into fruition.
And just four years ago, I was an entirely different person. I am thankful for my teacher’s influence: everything from grammar, to analyzing Holden Caulfield’s thoughts, to creating challenging writing prompts which enabled me to expand my writing ability.
We all have one of these teachers. One that you will go back to visit to see how they are doing. One that you wish to share your further educational endeavors with. Because few leave their mark in this way. For me, it’s Mr. Schultz at Marquette High School. Whoever it is for you, send them a message, pay them a visit, and thank them for what their life’s work has done for you.
