I grew up between the pages of a book
with invisible friends that could only be seen
through the mind’s eye.
I could envision what wasn’t there
and I was free to write my own adventure.
Maybe that is why I became an actor.
Because I wasn’t quite ready to give up
on the game of make-believe.
And I knew a man who wasn’t quite ready to give up
on learning.
When he read books, he fell in love with every word.
It was a new romance with each turn of the page.
His heart would lie on
page 85,
Or 50,
Or 123,
depending on whether or not he enjoyed a character that day.
Throwing books was always acceptable,
And he could demand excellence by simply peeking over his crooked glasses.
He was content to exist in perfect silence
and asked the same of us.
But when those moments of silence were broken
beautiful choruses erupted
because he believed that poetry was like a song without a tune;
Even the most tone deaf could croon
to the sweet melody of simple phrases
that even inexperienced tongues could move to.
Music was everywhere in the room.
In the scribbling of pencils,
The cracking of a book’s spine,
The laugh of a student,
Or in the mind of a great teacher.
He was the kind of man I could have believed
had placed the moon in the sky with only his words.
And we were blessed to be his diaries of flesh
and with every hushed story he told
and every beautiful word he spoke
he became an open book.
And by the end, we only wanted more,
but he simply stated,
“You know all my stories. We read them all.”
And with that, he pushed us from the nest
and he expected us to fly,
and so much more.
I was amazed by him because he taught me to soar.
There are some amazing individuals out there
that we are blessed to know
and with them, minds blossom so,
a teacher of language and beauty is not soon forgotten.