A Mentor

How this instructor was a threshold guardian in the writer’s path to writing when he was in the middle school years, the depth of influence these mentors have on our lives is, way too, extensive, and we can still feel their influences, even, to this, very, day of our lives, translated…

During my final year of middle school, I was at the height of my teenage rebellion stage, I’d said, I wanted to drop out by my second year of middle school, which caused my homeroom instructor to get anxious, that she’d come to make the home visits to my parents, and, worked hard with my parents, to keep me in line, so I don’t, go off crazy on my own.

All the students in the gifted and talented classes are all best actors and actresses: those who’d scored among the highest would doze off in class, and as soon as the bell rang, they’d called aloud, run to the basketball court, to play that three-on-three, never did I see any of them with the books, studying away; those who’d scored toward the bottom of the classes, we looked as if we understood what the instructor was teaching, followed along, and even if we’d understood the subject matter, we’d, rarely, asked, any questions, kept silent throughout the day; those who are mediocre, like me, at my last year, I’d felt all around me, getting wound up tighter, as they’d readied themselves for the entrance exams, I was too busy, working, on the, very first novel of my life.

Setting aside my textbooks, with the draft papers, dead center in front of me, I’d, buried my head down, “worked hard” for about a month, and, finished my draft of over three-thousand characters, then I’d, carried my stack of draft to my Chinese instructor’s office, Ms. Chiu.  A few days later, she’d called me to the office, and told me to rewrite what she’d corrected me on.  As I’d turned in that second draft, and very shortly thereafter, I got called by the principal, to receive an award!  Turned out, my first piece won first prize of the middle school age group national writing contest that was sponsored by the Department of Education, other than the prize money, there was also, a volume of all the winners’ writings.  A mediocre student hit the jackpot here!  It’d, shocked everybody else, but my instructor’s heart, only I knew about: she’d not only, carefully reviewed over my drafts, put my work into binding, and, submitted my writing in for the contest, and she’d, changed the title of my story for me.

After I “published”, I’d become, an escapee of writing then.  Every time I’d read up on my instructor’s work on the periodicals, I’d always felt, that I’d, not done right by her.  Later, I’d, gone to Shanghai to work, and, being in a strange place, hit me really hard, especially, seeing how the old town are, switching to its, newer, more urbanized, forms, I’d written, “Seeing that Tiger Window Again”, submitted it, and then, the runaway writer finally, returned back in life.  From handwriting my drafts, to keying in the characters one by one, it’d been a long, long time, since my very first, publication.

In recent years, I’d been busy, looking after my aging mother, but I’d still, managed, to find what time I can get, to write the essays, toward my instructor who’s probably retired, who was, that threshold guardian, leading me down this road of writing, I want to tell her: “thank you, for being a light that shone for me, when I was way too young, way too, inexperienced in my life.”

And so, this is the depth of influence of someone who served as a threshold guardian to you in life, this instructor was the guide that led you into the world of writing, and, with her helping you out, you’d, started, getting, published, and that helped you feel that sense of achievement you were in need of, and, it’d, helped shaped your personality, and you’d become, who you currently are, because of how she’d, shown you the way.