Harry Wilson

We had a track system in our high school, back in the Dark Ages. "A" and "Gifted" were reserved for the kids with the best grades. I worked hard enough to make A-track in most subjects. English was always my favorite. 

My junior-year English teacher didn't like a book report I turned in, resulting in his calling me "illiterate". There were no suggestions as to how to improve my work - just a cutting remark, intended to hurt. Man, was I ever rattled.  My parents were extremely offended, but dinnertime conversation calmed all of us. Together, we decided to extend him one free pass. It became my first consider-the-source lesson. Never a shy child (grin), I politely let it be known that his crude style was not appreciated; I had well established self-esteem and no intentions of allowing him to ruin my good academic standing. So, I humored him for the rest of the year and ended up with a fine grade. I can't even remember his name; that is how insignificant he became.

Senior year found me in a combined class. There were not enough Gifted kids to allow for a separate one; so, they joined Mr. Wilson's A-Track group, of which I was a member. Harry Wilson. I was thrilled from Day One. What an amazing year of discovering English literature. That man would mark a paper with an "A" and still offer tons of suggestions, printed in red ink on the right margin. Critique... not criticize with negativity. His valuable input allowed one to explore vast degrees of interpretation.

It became a highly competitive year for me. One gifted David D. sat to my right, front row, directly in front of Harry's desk. David was quite obviously offended to be placed in such a lowly group. His crappy, condescending attitude fired my spirit and drove me to beat his grade.

The final term paper of the year was to compare two significant novels by different authors, finding similarity in themes, differences in approach, etc. For the life of me, I cannot remember the two books I chose. This is what I do remember...

Upon receiving my graded paper from Mr. Wilson, the first thing I noticed was the lack of red ink in the margin. Then, I noticed the "A+". 
At the end of the paper, these words were written: 

"I've never given an 'A+'. This is a perfect paper. Would you mind returning it to me, so that I may use it as a model for future classes? 
Sincerely, Harry Wilson"

The only one more shocked than I was David D. As for me, I went from crushed (junior year) to confident (Mr. Wilson). Again, the details of the paper escape me; but the feeling of that moment has defined much of who I am. Hmm - roots to grow upon. Are we not all empowered to gift a good feeling every day, even in the face of gentle suggestion? Are all children not gifted gifts? Should we not be very careful with our labels, in an attempt to recognize each and every child's great potential? 

Maybe the old adage about youth being wasted on the young is true. I so wish that at seventeen, I'd have thought to tell Harry Wilson just how much a year in his classroom lifted me, as my love of the written word grew. That feeling...
It is not what we do for someone that really matters...
It is how we make them feel.

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UPDATE 3/25:
LAST EVENING, I found myself awestruck in upstate NY. Sometimes a wish comes true. My better-late-than-never thanks were extended within one day. Two inquiries via e-mail and we were connected; thank you Massapequa High School Hall Of Fame Org. And thank you, Mr. Wilson, for your gracious note; I am delighted.