High school isn’t exactly like the movies. There are no impromptu song breaks in the cafeteria, no bullies shoving people into lockers, and certainly no dance battles between cliques. Yet for all their discrepancies, one aspect that high school movies nailed was the effect a teacher can have on a student. It’s an archetype we’ve all seen before: with every coming-of-age film comes a benevolent teacher leaving a lasting impact on their pupils. However, this impact was something that I only became personally acquainted with after meeting Mr. K.

When I began freshman English, it quickly became obvious Mr. K wasn’t a conventional teacher. With his curriculum, long gone were the days of writing formulaic essays and reports. Instead, they were replaced with enriching activities like animations about books we read, argumentative letters to administrators, and videos we directed ourselves. Although this seemed unusual at first, I soon realized that Mr. K’s methodology fostered a distinct feeling of fulfillment. At the end of every unit, I got to watch with pride as my projects came to fruition. In Mr. K’s classroom, I wasn’t just a student. I was an inventor, director, and creator. I was someone with the opportunity to transcend the limits often imposed on my potential.

As the school year progressed, Mr. K proved he’d let our voices be heard. The signs of it were evident in his classroom: The list of our rights hanging on the wall. The votes we held to make important decisions. And — the one I appreciated most as a woman of color — our class discussions about equality. Everywhere I looked, I was reminded that Mr. K wouldn’t just let me know what my rights are, but advocate for them as well. I found that there’s a simple comfort in knowing that no matter what, someone was on my side, ready to stand up for me.

The most heartwarming detail about Mr. K was that he genuinely cared about our mental health. He often hosted wellness days where I could take a step back, put the world on hold, and check in with myself. Even better, he accommodated for the fact that high school is a torrential flurry that can easily spin out of control. I can’t count how many times Mr. K’s extended deadlines saved me from losing hours of sleep. How many times taking deep breaths as a class bought me an extra moment of respite. How, in the little ways, Mr. K helped me manage the ups and downs of growing up.

At the end of the day, high school truly is nothing like the movies. Real life is far more overwhelming, sometimes even disastrous, and doesn’t even have any dance battles to make up for it. But teachers like Mr. K help me turn it all — the whirlwinds, the stress, the chaos — into something I can tackle head-on. They make school a community I feel welcome to be a part of.

Thank you, Mr. K.