Every "bad kid" needs a Madame Frank to remind them of their worth

Yesterday I met up with my high school French teacher and her husband for lunch. I hadn’t seen Madame Frank in more than 30 years, but we reconnected like no time had passed. Back when she knew me, I was involved in a constant emotional battle with myself and the world around me. Not much has changed in that regard. My entire life has been a struggle.

Sometimes I feel sorry for myself when I think about my situation, wondering why stability and wealth have eluded me, wondering why I walk this earth alone instead of with a companion to share my experiences with. Our meeting reminded me that not only have I stayed true to myself over the years, but I have also come a long way from my days of being shoved against lockers or unfairly castigated by impatient and angry educators who were incapable or unwilling to “get me”.

Talking "silly French" with Madame Frank

When Madame Frank was teaching me French, she experienced the same disruptive behaviors I became infamous for throughout my adolescence. Talking incessantly during class, distracting my classmates during lectures, and challenging authority at every turn was my way of making sense of what I observed as a chaotic existence, of being a stranger in a world where I never felt I fit in, where I felt misunderstood and discounted because I didn’t act like everybody else.

Fortunately for me, in Madame Frank I found a teacher who was patient enough to manage my emotional dysregulation by giving me space and time to cool off rather than instantly sending me to the office for punishment. She would send me next door to another kind teacher’s classroom who was on her planning period. Without distractions, I was able to regain my composure and get on with my day.

Of course, it helped that I had a natural penchant for language learning and yearned to one day be bilingual. If I hadn’t been talented in that area, my behavior perhaps would have been dealt with more harshly. But she saw my raw talent and understood that often I distracted others because I was distracted by boredom.

Instead of plucking me up and discarding me like nearly all my other teachers in other subjects were prone to do, Madame Frank apparently decided she would nurture me, to help a wild weed transform into blooming flower of worth. And this was not because of who I was, but because of who she was a person. I was simply a fortunate beneficiary of the woman’s patience and kindness.

Since our meeting, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that instead of being the tragic figure I sometimes consider myself to be, I am in fact blessed beyond measure. My dream of becoming bilingual has come true several times over. I’ve travelled extensively throughout the Western Hemisphere, and I’ve racked up countless stories from my solo adventures, many of which have yet to be told.

Not only that, even though I’m on the verge of turning 53, she reminded me that my life of stories remains incomplete. I am a storyteller by nature, and there are many more stories left to experience as well as to be told in my future. She encouraged me to continue to live my wild and extravagant life of adventure, but also to take time to slow down and write out a few of the stories I’ve racked up along the way.

Many of the stories along my seemingly scattered and inconsistent timeline do in fact have shocking starts, meaty middles, and incredible endings that might entice a reader or two. These stories exist in technicolor in my mind’s eye, and the memories keep me company when I’m alone. Maybe my stories offer something to these potential readers, too. Perhaps it’s time for me to do what I am meant to do with my life and simply write.

If you have read to this point, you might be interested in some of these stories I'll be telling in the near future. If so, subscribe to my blog and follow “Brianopolis” on YouTube and social media.