I can still remember what my Dad said to me as I walked out of the house on the way to my first day of high school.
ěWho are you trying to attract?î he asked. ěThe boys or the bees?î
Apparently, I had overdone it a bit with the perfume.
When I climbed into the car with my best friend Emily, I frantically began trying to rub off some of the scent.
I woke up that morning extra early in time to curl my hair, apply makeup and pull on the outfit I had carefully picked out the night before.
I wore a brown pencil skirt that rested just above my knees, with a beige shirt, brown wedges and a brown necklace. I thought I was pretty stylish that day. If I saw myself wearing that today Iíd probably send a picture to Glamour as a ědonít.î
I donít remember much else about that day itself, but the year stands out in my mind vividly.
I joined the marching bandís colorguard team, ran track ó badly, very badly, I never even placed in the top three of any races ó and barely passed geometry.
It was also the year I met Mr. Coffey, the honors English teacher who introduced me to a lifelong love of Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe, poetry and music by Otis Redding.
Mr. Coffey also sparked my passion for writing by making me realize that words have power ó the power to affect change, to express emotion, to think outside the box and to tell the stories that live inside us all.
I ended up back in Mr. Coffeyís classroom for journalism my sophomore and senior years.
His approach was different this time around. He taught me how to listen, not just to the things people say, but also the things they donít say.
Mr. Coffey told us not to just accept things. He urged us to ask questions, to be curious.
His class made me want to pursue journalism as a career.
In the grand scheme of things, the outfit I wore on the first day of school had no effect on my life. But the guidance I got from Mr. Coffey sure did.
As a teenager, itís easy to get caught up in the details. I spent a lot of time worrying about my clothes, my hair and my lack of a boyfriend.
None of those things matter now, but a bad hair day sure felt like a life-ruiner back then.
I hope that as students go back to class today they encounter a teacher like Mr. Coffey, one who will make them enjoy coming to school. One who will remind them that high school only lasts four years, but a knowledge never expires.
Whenever my thoughts would linger on trivial things, Mr. Coffey reminded me thereís a big world out there, high school is just the tip of the iceberg.
Sarah Campbell covers education for the Post. Contact her at 704-797-7683.
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