It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when, and how, you started becoming the person you are.

Doing that is kind of like asking a parent to choose one of their children as their favorite: it (usually) can’t be done. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I mean, some (like my sister) would tend to disagree on that point. For the past year, she’s been telling me she’s the favorite child.

Considering that large amounts of stressful junior – and now senior – year work, college applications, sports, volunteer work, writing, and a huge comprehensive project (my Senior Project) can sometimes mix to create a very nasty result, for a while I actually didn’t doubt that she might be right. But that is neither here nor there.

I used to be skeptical of the Hollywood concept that your entire existence can change based on a single experience, or a grandiose epiphany. But I’ve spent the last two months contemplating my existence (or something like that) through college essay after essay. And, as I reflected and wrote, I came to realize I can trace some part of my current behavior to some event that happened once upon a time.

But that’s the thing – I’ve had more than one life-changing experience. I’ve actually had several. Sometimes very little things – and sometimes not so little things – will happen to make me think about how I’ve acted and make me want to act differently. And sometimes the process is a lot more gradual and happens without my noticing. Over the course of the past month alone, I’ve probably had at least three small life-altering epiphanies. And none of them involved near-death experiences.

When I look back on my entire life, a few of these experiences stand out.

For example, the reason why I don’t like horses is explained by one of these stories. Or better yet, the reason why I hate fire alarms. When I was 5 years old, I had this pink backpack with fantastic yellow and green pom poms on the zipper pulls. It had a picture of Esmerelda, from the Disney movie The Hunchback of Notre Dame, on it. I proudly brought it to school with me on my first day of kindergarten. Lo and behold, we had a fire drill that day. The teacher had warned us beforehand about the impending siren-wailing doom, and told us "the only thing we had to get out of the building was ourselves." When that fire alarm went off, the only thing I could think of was my beloved back pack, and, in a moment of desperation, I ran and grabbed it. The teacher had to practically take me down Jet Li style to undo my kung fu grip on Esmerelda.

And to this day, I hate fire drills. And what of the horse story, you ask? I’ll save that for another day.

Horses and fire drills aside, if I had to choose the one experience that most dramatically and significantly altered my life, I would have to say it was the year I spent as a third-grade student at North Stonington Elementary School with Mrs. Jane Servidio. Hands-down.

If you met me today, you probably wouldn’t believe it, but until I entered the third grade, I was painfully shy. I wouldn’t talk to anyone besides my mother. Especially if you were male. And you had a beard. (Now I find facial hair attractive. Go figure.)

And I cried. All the time. Even though I started acting the year I turned 7, I was always very high strung and introverted. My parents had tried everything to nip my behavior in the bud. And their efforts always turned out to be futile.

But for some reason, when I hit third grade, I did a total one-eighty (minus the whole hating fire drills thing. I don’t know if that can ever be cured…). I owe a lot of the credit for this change to Mrs. Servidio.

At 8 years old, I was starting to pursue my own interests, and I was starting to really learn. When I think about it now, I realize my third grade year was really a make it or break it time in my life. Though I was not a totally independent learner, I was starting to become one. I realized I could actually enjoy school because I was given the power to make choices.

Mrs. Servidio let us choose what books we wanted to read for our reading journals. She encouraged us to participate. And she never chided. She very clearly told us when she was disappointed with our behavior. But it never felt like she was reprimanding us; it was more like a discussion. She treated us all like little adults. She showed me that there was room in my education for me to do what I wanted to do. When I think about it now, I realize that had I had a more restricting teacher, I would probably have never come to that realization. And I would never be who I am today.

Indeed, after my third-grade year, I opened up. Mrs. Servidio had shown me how to nurture my capabilities. She showed me how to be creative. And more importantly, she showed me how to have fun. I really fell in love with learning. That year, I learned that my own knowledge and own interests were important.

And I have spent the nine years since then devoted to nurturing those very interests. In fact, I think it’s very safe to say that had I never been a student of Mrs. Servidio, this blog probably wouldn’t exist. And you wouldn’t be reading this right now. And I would have nothing better to do on my weekends.
    
And so, Mrs. Servidio, here’s to you.

(Even if you couldn’t cure my fear of fire drills.)