Paternal Mentors

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The sunlight splashed through open windows, painting the room a royal gold.

Holding up his weary chin with a calloused hand, gentle footsteps echoed down the hall.

She floated into the room like a broken princess, soft smile and ravaged soul.

Her chocolate hair, his Dead Sea eyes, their mingled words danced around his classroom

like the sweetest melody.

Sharp heels clicked past them and skidded to a halt. A disapproving glare from the Regina George of the small high school the princess came from.

She poured out her world to him. Her entire being she passed to him through stories. Stories of her past, of the father who neglected her. Of the man who gave her life but lacked the gift of love.

A ghost of her former self. She came alive again, her eyes shining like stars in the most brilliant sky. Out of the dismal shadows of paternal disdain and into the warmth of intellectual conversation and emotional growth, spiritual development.

Every dream. Each mistake. The triumphs, the heartaches. Her love of the written word. Her deep desire for travel. Her darkest secret- her disbelief in paternal affection.

The princess glanced up at him, her young face glistening with gratitude- that listening ear and caring heart. This teacher who owed her nothing. He gave her grades, he handed her a bathroom pass.

But more. More, he was the one who held her up when she was falling. He pushed her forward when she hesitated to take another step. He encouraged her dreams and strengthened her heart.

Their mutual love of literature. He showed her passages of poetry and lines from plays. She brought up more of her past through handwritten stories, teardrops smudging her lacy script. 

Afternoons in his classroom discussing what matters. Not chemistry, not biology, not physics. 

They discussed life, psychology, fiction, truth. Why people act the way they do. What makes one father ignorant of a doting daughter, which makes that sweet princess seek an alternative mentor. Someone to look up to, to listen to her, to simply be a presence in her life- at her highest, at her very darkest, at all times.

She learned from him that compassion was tangible.

Why can't all teachers treat their students with such respect, such compassion?

This harsh line drawn between students and teachers. There is so much to be learned from one another. So many memories to be forged between them, so much music to be shared and joy to be reached if only we stretched a little farther than academics and delved into the soul.

Why don't people reach out anymore? Why can't they bring themselves to care?

But the fact is, there are a select few who do this. And they are the golden angels that keep this miserable world one of the most beautiful places imaginable.

They fill it with color, with life, with everlasting devotion to the cause of happiness and the pursuit of eternal education.

The princess walked into her own classroom years later and smiled. She would make a difference, just like him. It was to be the mission of her whole life. Her kingdom was her classroom.

She would fling herself into the change she wanted to see, as he had taught her so very well.

The young and broken princess had been molded into a confident and caring Queen.

And she was ready for everything.

 

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