When I was working, I saw a man with the shirt that said “Dublin” on it, my hometown in Ohio. I was driving. He was walking around the round a bout. I yelled out the window, “are you from there?”

I looked at his face and immediately recognized him. It was Mr. Eckhart. He was my fourth grade language arts teacher. As soon as I knew it was him, I yelled his name out multiple times in shock. I told him to stop walking so I can park and say hello. He was with his wife and family. It had been about 14 years.

This is one of my fondest memories of life. The only other time I had seen him was maybe two years after I left his class, I was walking into the grocery store with my mother. I felt vulnerable he could see the brokenness in my relationship with my mom.

Then all those years later, I get to see him again and say thank you for all you did for me and reading. I loved reading in his class. I loved how he loved reading. He told us to read Percy Jackson and Inkheart. In his classroom, I developed the desire to genuinely want be a wizard in hogwarts.

I learned pig Latin in his class from a book on the shelf. I learned to sit still in silence with a book.

Now I get to teach some students film and possibly have the same level of influence Mr. Eckhart had on me.