Do you ever think about your teachers? The ones you had in school? Do you ever remember the important ones?
I had this music teacher called Miss Buttsworth (No, no joke, that was her name). She was beautiful and kind and she knew what a reclusive child I was. She always chose me to read stuff, and unexpectedly what I read or the way I read it got a laugh. She chose me to play instruments I couldn't play. She smiled at me in a way made this reclusive child think everything would be okay.
And she glared at me one day through a tiny window in a door separating me and my renegade mates from the classroom and the music storage room while we went crazy on the smorgasbord of instruments.
But it was okay. There was something in her eyes that said it's okay.
I wish I had the chance to tell her how much old Lee appreciated our life encounter. That would have been nice.
I had this music teacher called Miss Buttsworth (No, no joke, that was her name). She was beautiful and kind and she knew what a reclusive child I was. She always chose me to read stuff, and unexpectedly what I read or the way I read it got a laugh. She chose me to play instruments I couldn't play. She smiled at me in a way made this reclusive child think everything would be okay.
And she glared at me one day through a tiny window in a door separating me and my renegade mates from the classroom and the music storage room while we went crazy on the smorgasbord of instruments.
But it was okay. There was something in her eyes that said it's okay.
I wish I had the chance to tell her how much old Lee appreciated our life encounter. That would have been nice.
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