He was tall. Young. Adorned in a fancy button-down shirt and dress pants. His shoes were polished with tightly wound laces that made them squeak with each step. He was nervous, fidgeting as he fussed with papers, waiting for us to sit. When we were quiet, the bell rang and he faced us. He leaned against the table and crossed one leg over the other. He introduced himself. Mr. Fox. He had a dog, he was the son of half the owners from Fox Brothers Piggly Wiggly, and this was his first year as an independent English teacher at Lake Country. 

He relaxed. His shoulders loosened and his clasped hands came apart. Reading logs were the first topic on his agenda. The dreaded chart every kid lied about when documenting how long they read during the week. But he was smart. He knew we fudged the numbers. Instead of listening to us complain about them, or of not having anything to read, he tried something new. Something I never thought he’d say.

“If you have nothing to read, write it.”

That was the year I read the least amount of books. 

I was skilled at writing, but I never thought it could be anything more. So I tried something new. I began to write seriously. I began to write a book. As he taught me how to create, he learned more about becoming a teacher. I was as eager to write as he was eager to teach. In 2015, my seventh-grade year, we both helped each other advance our careers. 

At the end of the year, I wrote him a letter. I told him I was still working on my book, that I hoped my class imprinted on him well for his first year, and I thanked him for being one of my favorite teachers. While I was at recess on the last day, the doors opened and out came the tall, young, fashionably-dressed teacher I met on the first day of school, just as flustered. He came up to me and thanked me, told me if I ever needed any advice, he would be there. 

I didn’t see him again until a few months into eighth grade. I was at my locker and he was coming back from the office. The hall was empty, and as he passed me, he turned and said hello. He told me he still had my letter, and every once in awhile, he would take it out and read it to remind him of why he does what he does. 

That was the year I finished my book.

He was the one who made me into the writer I am today, and if anyone is deserving of acknowledgment for the wonderful things they’ve done, it’s him. A teacher’s main goal is to help students find what they love so they can make a career out of it. I can proudly say that Mr. Fox has done just that.