My Favorite Teacher

The story of my guitar teacher and her impact on me

I met my guitar teacher, Ms. A., when I was 7 years old. I remember what she was wearing that day, and her bright smile that made me feel confident and at ease. I have previously shared through a poem and a short life story that she was the one who made me fall in love with playing the guitar.

Ms. A. was a woman in her late 30s. She had short brown hair, and always dressed in an androgynous fashion. I remember our first lessons together, and how scared I was to make a mistake (I had learned from home that mistakes equal severe punishment). She gained my trust and helped me calm down. I always looked forward to our lessons together, even when we had to prepare extra hard for the end-of-year exams at the conservatory.

Living in a small town on an island meant that everyone knew something about someone else. In the town, everyone knew that she was engaged with a man in his 40s. Everyone was wondering why they’re not getting married, since they’ve been engaged for many years.

I wasn’t surprised when I learned (sometime when I was 20 years old) that she did her coming out as a lesbian. Her “fiancé” was a friend of hers, who was gay. Due to the very conservative community on the island, they made that agreement to pretend to be engaged so that they could both live the way they want in secret, without raising suspicions. After her coming out, I learned that there were some parents who didn’t want her to be their children’s teacher anymore. That made me so sad, and angry.

I say that I wasn’t surprised about her coming out, not only because of the way she dressed (I didn’t know the term back then, but she was a rather stereotypical butch lesbian) but also because of some conversations we had over the years.

In fact, she was the first person I ever told anything about not feeling like a girl, and also about feeling confused because I liked both boys and girls. She never asked me a question about those topics directly, but all our other conversations made me feel secure enough to know that she was a person I could open up to about anything. She was also one of the few adults who made me feel that I was good enough, and able to accomplish anything I wanted in life. She was the only person that I was honestly glad to see and talk to at my brother’s funeral. I don’t remember much of what we talked about, but I remember feeling safe and loved.

When I was 13 years old, she gave me a gift for Christmas. It was a small glass tealight candle holder, that was triangular and looked like stained glass in different shades of blue. It was my favorite, and I had it on my desk. I would often light a candle while studying. Unfortunately, one day my mother knocked it over by accident while dusting the desk. It shattered but I was able to glue it back together. I put it in a box to protect it, because it meant so much to me. My mother apologized and I know it was an accident. She was able to do many terrible things, but I know she wouldn’t break it on purpose.

Through music, Ms. A. also taught me to be patient and have compassion for myself. I remember one day before the end-of-year exams, I was panicking. I was feeling that I had forgotten everything. The musical piece I had to perform was Cardoso’s Milonga (I highly recommend that you listen to it). Ms. A. told me to let myself free and connect to the emotions through the music, and that way I would forget that I was in an exam.

I asked her “and what if I make a mistake?”, and she said “Own it and move on. Don’t stop. A mistake is not a big deal, unless you make it one.” Then I told her that I was afraid that I’ll get an itch somewhere while playing. She then taught me a trick: “focus on your fingertips and the sensation of the vibrations of the strings”.

Sure enough, about a minute into playing at the exam, my nose started itching! I followed Ms. A.’s trick, and the itch was gone in less than 20 seconds! After the exam finished, I told her that I got an itch, and made it go away using her trick. She then told me that this trick applies to more than just an itch. It took me a few years to understand fully what she meant.

Ms. A. would often say to my parents that I was her favorite student. I had my doubts about it, because I knew some other students of hers who were so much better than me, and two of them actually pursued studies in music after graduating high school. So, how was it possible that I was her favorite student? My mother run into her some years ago, and she asked about me. She said the same thing, that I was her favorite student. I cried after my mother told me that, because I realized that Ms. A. truly meant it.

I know that she still lives there, and she’s taking care of her mother who is very old. Sometimes I wonder if Ms. A. is happy with her life now, after coming out. Does she feel free to live how she wants? Or, is she stuck in a conservative town until her mother passes away? If I ever go back to the island, I would love to meet up with her. I want to tell her about the impact she had on me, and how I cherish our time together.

How about you? Did you have a favorite teacher? I’d love to know everything if you want to share with me in the comments, or write your own story!