The lesson wasn’t about impressing people.
It never was.
It was about standing in front of a room with a photograph, a notebook, and every word true, and not shrinking while waiting for the world to catch up with you.
My mother had shown it to me before the assembly.
Before Mr. Reynolds.
Before Hero Week.
He taught it at the kitchen table, correcting my grammar without looking over his shoulder, simply knowing something.
That was what I had always been proud of.
That was always the goal.
END
