This post was inspired by a Grammarly blogger cluing me in that today is World Teachers’ Day.
Today I know and have grown to respect and appreciate many wonderful teachers. Back in the day it was another story. Those who got me as pupil in grade school years, was working with a reluctant learner of sorts, not exactly looking at teachers with the warm fuzzies in her eyes. Only a few teachers I recall with fond clarity…
…such as our elementary school principal who pulled me out of class, which meant having to find me and pull me from beneath a desk. Out of all the students in the school she selected me for a photo op to celebrate diversity with a neighboring school whose students were other ethnicities than those attending our school. I didn’t think much about the incident back then, but today I am humbled by this event.
For the most part my encounters with teachers existed in an invisible bubble. I didn’t ‘get’ them, and they didn’t ‘get’ me. If it wasn’t the teacher who moved my best friend to a higher class, telling my parents she wanted to see if separating me from my friend would motivate me to do better in class, which I didn’t, I performed even worse; then it was teachers pulling me aside to ask what I was so angry about. I had no answer. I didn’t even realize I was so angry.
But those chilly encounters I’ll leave inside Storytella; a book of short stories I published and was subsequently informed by a teacher who never taught me, but who read and reviewed the book, that I didn’t paint my teachers in the best of light.
This was because it wasn’t until the 11th grade when I finally met the teacher who presented me with a challenge that would impact and hallmark my writing career forever. I dedicated my best selling book and most popular poem Atlóta, to him.
My dedication to the teacher who raised the blinds for me...