When I started the eighth grade, I was immediately labeled as “the bad kid.” I questioned the methods of my teachers, refusing to do things just because it’s what I was “supposed to do.” I asked questions. I did homework differently than other students. I used my critical thinking skills to make suggestions. I had no issue pointing out when something a teacher was doing was impractical. The principal called me a “problem student” and spoke down to me as if I had an IQ below 80.
Unfortunately, when I started high school, this didn’t change. I was one of the few students with tattoos and piercings and I came out as gay during my sophomore year. When you live in a small town in southern Indiana, this move is basically social suicide, but I couldn’t relent. I refused to hide who I was just because it was expected of me.
At first, you rejected me the same way every other teacher did. You automatically assumed that I would drop out after a couple of years and you spent most of your time ignoring me. That is, until we started reading "To Kill A Mockingbird." Now, I’m not going to lie. I didn’t do well in any of my classes. I thought, “What’s the point? They all think I’m stupid. Let’s give them what they want”, but when we started reading that book and you discovered that I had already read it on my own time at the age of eleven, you treated me differently. The change was only a slight difference, but it was noticeable. It was positive.
Every time we would read new material in class, you would ask me beforehand, “Have you read this already?” The answer was always yes. You always told me how impressed you were by me. You were the first teacher to ever tell me I was smart. You were the first teacher who didn’t dish out punishments when I would ask you questions. You were the first teacher who ever gave me a chance.
That first year of high school was only the beginning. I got you for English 10 the next year, and you treated me like an honor student. You encouraged me to ask any question I wanted. You pushed me to do well on my schoolwork. You already knew that I knew all of the material before you even taught it, so when you told other students to study for ten minutes before you administered a test you’d tell me I could just take the test and spend the rest of the class period in the library doing what I loved most; reading.
Sure, you made no bones about me being the “teacher’s pet.” I’m sure you got a lot of crap for it, but you never stopped. At one point, whenever there was a teacher’s aid in the class and she needed to get caught up with what we were doing, you would assign me to the task. Sometimes I got annoyed with your favoritism (especially when you’d ask for a “volunteer” and it always ended up being me), but favoritism was what I needed after years of being mistreated by the school system.
You inspired me to apply to the same college you attended, and you pushed me to enroll in honors classes. After only a year, I went from a barely-passing “troubled” student to an honors student with the highest grade in two of my classes. You gave me the confidence to succeed, and I’m thankful for that. You are the kind of mentor every unique student needs. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I couldn’t have done it without you.
