TW: Death
Today is (possibly) the birthday of my high school mentor. I say “possibly” because I don’t know for sure and I can’t ask him.
He passed away years ago of pancreatic cancer. It was quick. Took him within a year. He died the September my adolescent life was about to change. September is full of deaths for me, but I digress.
He seemed like a stern Southern man but he had layers of intellect and interest and compassion that he so passionately instilled into his work with his students. He taught me Honors English for half my high school career.
I was always a B student in his class but in sophomore year I wrote an essay that impressed him so much he called my mother to tell her what a good job she was doing with me and he read it aloud to my class. It wasn’t until he got to the conclusion that I realized it was my paper he had bolstered.
I was convinced when I turned it in that I was getting a C, but he gave me a 96, the highest score he’d given at that time on a comparative essay. I had never truly believed in myself but he told me I should start. I respected him so much. I felt I could trust his approval.
I read that essay recently (a look at Rose from “The Joy Luck Club” and Moon Orchid from “The Woman Warrior”) and was blown away by the insightful analysis I had at fifteen! I had no idea how I could read this essay, write this essay, and not realize the depth my writing had had until someone told me so. I’ll never forget him because he not only saw me for my potential but he told me and others I had achieved greatness.
He saw me. He encouraged me and my interests. He took me to Shakespeare in the Park. He wrote me a glowing letter of recommendation to college that I have sadly lost the copy of since high school. I remembered he was impressed by my acting in Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night” in the letter. Somehow, though acting was more of a passion than writing, I believed him less on this praise.
I’ve never had a mentor. Not like him. And to lose him so young had been devastating. I’ve met mentor-like people, mostly women, which I love, but no one has stuck. I lose them all to life whereas I lost my first mentor to death.
He gave me a journal the last day I saw him and I have spent most of a decade filling it’s pages with my woes and whims. I wrote early in it that I felt guilty not filling the book with something “worthy” of the man who gave it to me. But he had told me in an inscription to remember The Bard said “To thine own self be true.”
I don’t feel like anyone has believed in my talent like he did, myself included, but I have tried to live like he suggested. His support has meant so much to me and, though I know I’ve fallen short of some of his high hopes for me, I know there was something in me that could do more. I wasn’t born great, greatness was not thrust upon me, but I did and could again achieve greatness.
Thank you so much for everything. I’m thinking of you on your birthday.
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