Back-to-School Night

I went to Back to School night at my son's high school. He's a senior so this is the last Back to School night for me, ever.

It is also his English teacher's last year before he retires. The English teacher, Mr. Baird, has been teaching there for forty years, and he's still one of the best-loved teachers there. After forty years and countless students, the man still shines in the classroom and has a way with kids that makes them want to suceed; to make him proud of their work. Truly, the man is gifted.

He was also my English teacher, too, lo those many years ago.

So when I went to my last Back to School night, which would also be his last, I took a copy of my latest book to give to him. I wanted to give him something, to let him know in some way how much his teaching had fueled a passion in me that never let go. To let him know that he had set my feet firmly on a path that had brought me incredible satisfaction and allowed me to reach my dreams.

But I had to wait until my fifth book to do it. It wasn't until then that I felt confident enough in my writing, proud enough of the story I'd gotten on the page, that I was comfortable letting Mr. Baird see it.

It was a complex moment, handing him that book. I felt awkward and embarrassed, but immensly proud, too. In some ways, it felt like I was turning in a paper that was thirty years late. And yet I also felt like I was handing him proof of how much his teaching had meant to me, proof of how profoundly he had affected my life.

Because the truth was, critics and reviewers be damned. It was what Mr. Baird thought that was truly important to me.