A Thank You to Teachers

Today, we featured an article on student Brynn Cochran. The 12-year-old's short story recently received first place among sixth grade entries in the statewide Georgia Young Authors' Writing Competition.

Brynn's story, "Harder than Corundum," is set against the backdrop of the Chernobyl disaster and is told through the eyes of a search and rescue German Shepherd on her final mission. You can read the story here on Kennesaw Patch.

Brynn's story immediately took me back to my own childhood and the pleasure I found in writing poems and stories. I dreamed and created, conjuring up clever animals, cruel but beautiful gods and goddesses and alien light beings who lived on the sun.

My mother still has a copy of a story I wrote and illustrated in the third grade. It tells the tale of a wolf who murders and eats all the sheep in the meadow, save one little black lamb. The lone survivor of the flock avenges the death of her loved ones as she stabs the wolf with a butcher's knife, skins him and fashions a lovely fur coat out of his carcass.

The bloodier scenes are illustrated in bright red colored pencil.

No, I wasn't a disturbed child influenced by violent video games. I was simply an avid reader of Grimm's Fairy Tales.

As far back as I can remember, I've always wanted to be a writer. I knew there was a certain power in the written word, a kind of immortality to be found in the stories I told.

Looking back, it was the influence of a few special teachers who encouraged and fueled my passion for writing early in life. Regardless of whether or not these teachers remember me, I certainly remember them and the impact they've made on my life.

There was Ms. Serene, my pre-K teacher who always had the biggest hugs and would sing my name: "Tana-Tana-Bo-Bana-Banana-Fana-Fo-Fana." Then, Mrs. Koontz, my second grade teacher at Ford Elementary School, a strict but kind woman with the greatest laugh (our class was always the quietest when lined up in the hall). Then, there were the paper airplanes and brainteasers of Mr. Moody, who always kept us thinking out of the box, and finally, the writing sessions, story-sharing and Shakespeare readings with Dr. Sheehan at Durham Middle School.

The fact that these names and these memories stick so clearly in my mind is a story in and of itself. Tonight, I want to take the time to acknowledge our educators because there's something truly special about a great teacher.

This evening's Night Owls is more about reflection than discussion. I want to know: what are your passions in life, and how have teachers influenced you to pursue the path you've taken?