One of the security questions that I could pick for a website that I need to log in to occasionally was "What was he last name of your favorite teacher?"
Now, it's been quite some time since I was in school, with teachers that you actually got to know. College professors, who you see once or twice a week aren't the kind of people you create a bond with. But, I have no trouble coming up with the answer to that question.
Mr. Brown was a health teacher at my high school, he was the athletic trainer as well. He also taught the class "Tools for Change". This class was an elective that you could take, and I signed up for it my senior year thinking it would be an easy A. You basically learned methods for coping with being a teenager. And Mr. Brown was fun. We didn't sit at desks, heck, sometimes we didn't even sit in chairs. This was a relaxing period, during a stressful year. It shouldn't have been an elective. It should have been required of all seniors.
The summer before my senior year, a traumatic event happened to me. One that I didn't share with anyone. Not my best friend, not my big sister, not even my boyfriend who I started dating shortly after (who later became my husband). Having a secret, that you didn't want anyone else to know, eats away at you day by day. By January, I was about to snap. So, one afternoon, I went down to the training room to talk to Mr. Brown. And talk I did. I told him things that I couldn't tell anyone else, and felt safe doing so. It became a regular thing. I would go to the training room, and he would listen. If I had a panic attack in the middle of the day, I knew I had somewhere safe to go flip out. If it weren't for Mr. Brown, I may not have survived my senior year of high school. He talked me off a ledge on numerous occasions. I literally owe that man my life.
I don't know if he knows how important he was to me. If he realized what he did for me that year. I have blocked a lot of that year from my memory. I honestly can't remember many things that happened from most of that year. But one thing I will never forget is the last name of my favorite teacher. Brown.
Now, it's been quite some time since I was in school, with teachers that you actually got to know. College professors, who you see once or twice a week aren't the kind of people you create a bond with. But, I have no trouble coming up with the answer to that question.
Mr. Brown was a health teacher at my high school, he was the athletic trainer as well. He also taught the class "Tools for Change". This class was an elective that you could take, and I signed up for it my senior year thinking it would be an easy A. You basically learned methods for coping with being a teenager. And Mr. Brown was fun. We didn't sit at desks, heck, sometimes we didn't even sit in chairs. This was a relaxing period, during a stressful year. It shouldn't have been an elective. It should have been required of all seniors.
The summer before my senior year, a traumatic event happened to me. One that I didn't share with anyone. Not my best friend, not my big sister, not even my boyfriend who I started dating shortly after (who later became my husband). Having a secret, that you didn't want anyone else to know, eats away at you day by day. By January, I was about to snap. So, one afternoon, I went down to the training room to talk to Mr. Brown. And talk I did. I told him things that I couldn't tell anyone else, and felt safe doing so. It became a regular thing. I would go to the training room, and he would listen. If I had a panic attack in the middle of the day, I knew I had somewhere safe to go flip out. If it weren't for Mr. Brown, I may not have survived my senior year of high school. He talked me off a ledge on numerous occasions. I literally owe that man my life.
I don't know if he knows how important he was to me. If he realized what he did for me that year. I have blocked a lot of that year from my memory. I honestly can't remember many things that happened from most of that year. But one thing I will never forget is the last name of my favorite teacher. Brown.
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