My First Magic Teacher

I had not intended to pass by this particular park, having long buried away after that day.

It was by the sound, with rocks leading to a hill overlooking the ocean, and it was from this spot that their ashes were released to the sea.

My parents did the best that they could, for a kid they didn’t understand, a kid who didn’t learn by memorizing and reciting things, but rather a kid who learned through imagination.

I bounced from school to school before arriving at the one I graduated from.

Most classes were about survival, just get through the tests, do anything for a passing grade and worry about the next test later. I did better with science as at least there was a physical on-hand component of it.

But the rest of the subjects?

Disaster.

I don’t remember how I got put in the class, but there I was again.

A new teacher, a new subject, and another year to just get by.

The class was Mythology of the West.

She was my first teacher in magic.

I couldn’t say it then, but I think we can say it now.

I can say that now looking back, what was illuminated in me, it just took a decade and a half to germinate.

She didn’t just teach the mythology of the Gods, she brought them to life by explaining them and having the students in the class read and enact drama and plays from them.

The feeling as if you were standing before the Gods and stealing fire from heaven.

Class became something alive.

I was her favorite student, and she was my favorite teacher.

Imagine if every class could be taught like this, it explained why I had an “A” in the class and everything else on the card was either a “C” or if I was lucky a “C+”.

Next year I studied Western Literature under her before she got sick.

Almost the entire school attended her memorial service at the park, and after that school was never the same.

But I had learned that the Gods can be real if you let them.