This is a post to thank my high school creative writing teacher 😊
Because it wasn’t just what he taught of creative writing, but the way he treated students that really struck me.
He was the first teacher to show me that what I wrote mattered, and that I mattered.
He’d pop in Moby’s CD, and soon Honey would fill the classroom, prompting us to write our little hearts out. Write about whatever we wanted. Write like nobody was looking… because he wasn’t going to look either!
You see, we were allowed to staple our papers shut if we felt that what we wrote was too private, or if we were too shy, or if we simply weren’t ready to share.
That year was a rough one for me. I was pushed into getting married at age 16. Tensions at home with an abusive step-parent had culminated, and I was forced into the role of an adult– fast.
And one day between homework and bullying and marriage and grades and college applications and teen hormones, I had had it. I ran out in the middle of Mr. Walker’s class and cried outside the steps of his classroom.
When I returned, I expected to be in trouble– any other class, I would have been. But instead Mr. Walker took the time to stand in front of the class and say, “I know life is tough. If you’re ever overwhelmed and feel the need to step out, you may.”
That’s when I realized what a great man he was.
Nobody ever took advantage of his generosity– no one ever just “stepped out” to skip class. I think it’s because we were all very thankful for the kind, respectful way he treated us.
I will always be grateful to him for providing at least one class where I felt safe, valued, and encouraged.
Wherever you are… Thank you, Mr. Walker.
🌸 🌜🌸 🌜🌸 🌜🌸 🌜🌸 🌜🌸 🌜🌸 🌜