I'm pretty sure that my eighth grade English teacher came into the library where I was working today. I didn't talk to him because I was busy helping someone else, but I would have liked to say something.
He wasn't even my actually English teacher. He was a student teacher, or something like that. He basically taught the second half of the class while our actual teacher sat in back of the room doing who knows what. We spent a lot of time reading/studying Watership Down and we also did poetry.
Jeff Baird (that was his name, and I'm totally ok with using it because a- I doubt he'll ever run across this little blog o' mine and b- he deserves some credit) was really the first teacher I had who really influenced the course of my life. Mr. Baird did so by encouraging me to write and making me think that the silly peoms I wrote were any good. It's pretty much soley because of him that I ever thought I could write.
Granted, I'm not some famous authoress or anything. It would be fun to say "I'm a famous poet and it all started with this one great teacher." Who knows, maybe some day I will be able to say that. But Mr. Baird's influence is none the less prevelant. I mean, I am majoring in English with a focus on Creative Writing and I am a published writer, even if it is just in silly little lit mags.
Anyway, seeing him made me think about the impact some teachers have. I'm incredibly grateful for the encouragement I recieved from him. I hate to use a worn out cliche, but I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for that class and this amazing teacher.