There was the woman who I had always aspired to be.
She began our Honor Choir rehearsal by diplomatically expressing her deep disdain at our lack of preparation. In her southern belle twang, she mocked, "If ya'll aren't gonna learn your part, I'm going to take the word 'honor' out of the program title." Touche, Professor, Touche. The girls walked into the rehearsal hall the next morning with harmonies as tight as their pants... well, and to be honest, the boys did too. I was amazed that anyone could whip a bunch of lazy (or incredibly busy) high school students into shape that quickly.
As I grew ever more fascinated by her expertise, I admittedly found myself searching for brownie points. When none of the other 2nd sopranos were singing through the phrase, I was turning blue from lack of oxygen. When she told the basses to mark that they needed to be louder at measure 62, I boastfully wrote "Be quieter" on my own. More than anything else, I wanted this woman's favor. I wanted to be her next shining star, her diamond in the rough.
Ha. Reality check, anyone?
In the last few moments in the green room before we performed our final number, I decided to make one final move. Although still somewhat strategic in my little ladder of fame and stardom, it was still 100% genuine. With a heart pounding over the thought of messing up my words in front of the woman that epitomized what I've always wished to be, I simply gasped, "I just wanted to say thank you so much for taking time to rehearse with us. I really appreciate it."
A quick "Of course" was all I got back.
And that's when I realized that although this professor is undoubtedly spectacular at what she does, I don't actually want to be her. Not one bit.
I was raised with the value that there is no such word as "stranger." That we're all people. That whether you work at Pizza Hut or at the Louvre, you are valuable. That a smile is the greatest investment you can make in someone's day. That people don't care how much you know until they know how much you care.
She left us with the words, "I am proud of your accomplishments, but this is just my normal operating style; I don't show favorites."
I want to be the adult who, rather than picking no favorites, picks everyone as my favorite. Because everyone has a beautiful talent just waiting for the warmth of an encouraging word to allow it to blossom. Everyone just needs someone to believe in them.
There will always be a little piece of me that wishes I could be like this particular professor, with such a deep level of authority and confidence. But at the end of the day, I see where my values really stand. I don't care about a silly suit, how much hairspray I use, or if my voice cracks three times before I finally finish a sentence.
Instead, I'll be the one in the Student Council t-shirt, with my hair untouched, and likely slouching (sigh...). I'll have a gentle voice, soft eyes, and I'll always be braced for a hug.
Because I really, really care.
