Mr. Andersen...
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Sometimes the smallest thing can change your whole life. A hug, a smile, or even a simple hello. For me, all it took was to have someone understand. All it took was a teacher�a great teacher.
At the beginning, high school wasn't easy for me. I received good grades and made the cheerleading squad, but on the inside I felt so empty. I have never been a social person, which didn't make high school much easier. I was always that girl who sat in the back of the class and never spoke to anyone. I had the worst self-esteem and since no one ever tried to get to know me, no one ever knew. My journal became my best friend. And on the weekends when everyone else went to parties and hung out with friends, I sat home and wrote short stories and poetry. I loved to write. It was my only passion. But I never thought I was any good. I began to hate school so much that I often found myself not wanting to go at all. I felt like a freak. No one liked doing the things I liked to do. I couldn't relate to anyone. But something kept me going. Something made me want to be there.
Everyday I'd look forward to third period. To this day I do not know why I was put in a Language Arts Honors class, but I am so glad I was. I sat in the second row from the door, fourth seat back. Everyday I'd come in, sit down and take out my notebook to write down the "thought of the day" that hung on the wall beside me. When class would start my attention would turn to the tall, blue eyed man that stood at the front on the room. Many times he would start us off with a story or read us something that he thought we would enjoy. Often times I felt that I was the only student in the class. Maybe I was.
The writing assignments he gave were a snap for me. And when I'd get back my paper with an "A" carefully scrolled on the top, no one could ever understand why it meant nothing to me. I still felt empty�not good enough. Then one day he told our class that he wanted us to write an autobiography. I still remember how I felt when he said that. It was going to be the hardest thing for me to do. To write about myself and the way I felt about my life. No one would ever understand. It was pointless.
Needless to say I put off the essay until the last minute. But when I actually sat down to write it, it came so easily. Everything just flowed and it felt so weird to have it on paper. Then the next day I turned it in, and within a few days he handed it back to me with another "A" written on the top, with a smile he turned and walked away.
After class he called me back as I walked out the door. I wondered what he wanted: "Krystle," he started, "I could give you a lecture on self-esteem but I've found it wouldn't help. No one can give you self-esteem. You could go your whole life and accomplish millions of goals and still not feel worthy. No one can tell you if you are a writer or not. You just have to believe it." I could feel the tear pushing at the back of my eyes as I gazed at the ground. He went on, "You're a special girl in your own way." And with that, he turned and walked away.
I stumbled to my fourth period in a haze and tears. I walked through the crowded halls and for once, I did it with my head up. At that moment, everything was different. Everything had changed because one person understood. To this day his words echo in my head. And now I don't worry. I still write in my journal and I still get "A's" on my papers, and it still means nothing to me. I have received plaques, certificates, and the praise of peers and teachers for my writings, but nothing compares to what he gave me. He understood me�Mr. Andersen, my teacher, I will never forget.