You never forget the people who saw something in you before you saw it in yourself.
For me, it started in the band and choir rooms—where the air always smelled faintly of brass polish and nerves, and where music was only part of what we were learning. My high school band and choir directors weren’t just teaching notes and rhythms; they were teaching life. These men were a steady voice in the chaos of adolescence—father figures when I needed one, confidants I didn’t know I could trust so completely, and the first people outside my family who made me feel like I mattered.
They didn’t just lead the band and choir; they led with heart. They believed in me when I couldn’t yet see the shape of my own potential. For a while, I wanted to be just like them—to become a band director, to give someone else that same unwavering support. And maybe I still carry that with me, in a different form. Voguegenics might not involve marching drills or sheet music, but the beat of encouragement is still there.
Then there was my 10th grade English teacher, who recently passed—a loss that hit deeper than I expected. She was one of the first to truly see my writing. She didn’t hand out compliments like confetti, which made her praise feel like treasure. She was sharp, witty, and fierce in the best way—and her red pen didn’t miss a beat. She challenged me, pushed me, sharpened my voice without ever dulling my spirit. She had this way of making me want to rise to her expectations, because when she gave praise, you knew it was real. I still quote her frequently in my blogs. Her words are stitched into the very seams of my sentences. I really hope she knew what a gift she gave me.
If Voguegenics has taught me anything, it’s that transformation often begins with a single moment of being seen. Someone else’s belief can become the spark that lights your own.
So here’s to the teachers who changed everything—not with grand gestures, but with presence, with patience, with love disguised as structure and wisdom dressed in red ink. Their lessons live on long after the final bell.
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