Friday, April 29, 2005


I visited my old high school and gave all my English teachers a warm embrace when I saw them. They were a fantastic lot, nurturing the inner writer I never thought existed. No way could I have become the person I am without their presence and support. I couldn't have possibly given in to my untraditional impulses if it weren't for their open-mindedness, patience, criticism and forgiveness.

I gave them a quick summary of my adventures in Frenchland and showed Ms. K a picture of M. Biologique taken on my camera phone, careful to prepare her for his strong hippie radiation.

"Ooh!" she raved when I handed it to her. "Now isn't he handsome?"

Students recognized me in the hallway and the office atmosphere had a certain, undeniable joviality. Warm light passed through the tinted windows as the teachers and I stood there, shuffling our feet, listening to me echo stories of the past year. There was a certain je ne sais quoi to our reunion. Bad blood no longer ran through our veins. I nodded thoughtfully when they told me the school eventually decided to invest in newspaper production equipment after I left. My plan to revitalize this extracurricular activity had materialized - it had suddenly become cool to express opinions rather than last night's scores (or at least compared to them yonder days, I suppose).

I took down their emails, not knowing when or why I'd ever speak to them again. I felt like I was committing perjury. My pulse quickened as I took down their information. "Tu nous as promis," I imagined them saying years down the road, "mais tu n'as jamais ecris." If I ever get the chance to pull a Tom Hanks, I will. Good teachers are hard to find. Those who make a difference affect the rest of our lives.


I saw my marks last night. I received an A in both Digital Media and Theory, one of only 4 out of our class of 60. Really proud of myself. I guess my final paper didn't turn out as bad as expected.

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