Last night, I wrote a sixty second pitch to submit for the HelpBnk Power of Community Event, and ever since I can’t stop thinking about my high school creative writing teacher, Mr. Strange.
Mr Strange gave off a curmudgeonly air. He was a squat, short man who could’ve been a sea captain who’d been condemned to a life on on land and there was a sign in front of him, invisible, but you could definitely feel it. And it said his bark might definitely be as bad as his bite.
Most of that class was uneventful. I could barely be bothered showing up for school, much less putting in any effort. I was dealing with a permanently disabled mother and a home where buckets and newspapers surrounded my bed to catch the rain falling in from the roof.
Uneventful if not for one day, the day Mr. Strange asked to see me after class. The moment itself is a blur. All I remember is that, instead of being in trouble, which is what I assumed, Mr. Strange had pulled me aside to give me praise for something I’d written. I don’t even remember what it was I’d written, but I remember what he said and how it made me feel.
“You could be a great writer,” he said.
And that moment, and me looking up into his squat face behind his desk is seared into my memory.
he believed in me
carried it with me my whole life
the power of small actions to change the world
i’ve only now begun to write
i believe in me
ripple effect
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