I took this photo in 1983 during regional competition of National History Day; I used a Kodak disc camera. If I were taken back to Model Lab School on the campus of Eastern Kentucky University, I could take you to the exact spot shown above. I had no idea when I snapped this photo of a girl I hardly knew that her story would become such an inspiration in my adult life. She was the smart girl then, and she is the smart girl today. Let me explain.
Teri Branson. Remember that name? I'll give you a minute. Teri Branson was my sixth grade language arts teacher, and she changed everything about my educational experience once I encountered her force of grammatical perfection and fierce belief in the power of the spoken word. Our textbook was named Expressways. It was blue, and in the back, there was an index of our language's most frequently used verbs written in precise conjugation. My classmates and I wrote those lists to the point of pain, and she demanded their proper use. She was unlike anyone I had ever seen in person. Her hair was modern, youthful, and trendy. Her makeup was flawless yet dark. Her penmanship was outside the box yet beautiful. She wore huge earrings and bracelets that "bangled." Her grading system consisted of simply five numbers. Your work earned a one, two, three, four, or five. No more. No less. She would never accept less.
Teri Branson did not think I was fabulous. How blessed was I to live a whole 11 years on this earth before I experienced that emotion? Teri Branson didn't want me at the front of the room. She didn't care if I liked her or not. She didn't acknowledge my pleading for attention without saying a word. Nothing I could do garnered her approval. But the smart girl shown in the above photo earned the approval. Earned. Key to this note.
The girl shown in this picture was a student of Teri Branson before my class. As we switched in and out of our open concept designed middle school classrooms, I skipped the traditional lap around the library and went straight to the corner room because English was my only hope. Let me rephrase that. I liked English. I hated math. I liked English, and I wanted my teacher to like me. I wanted her to pick me. I wanted to be the best. I wanted her to keep me and talk to me after class. I wanted her to coach me to win History Day spoken word competition divisions. I wanted her to laugh and smile and encourage me. I wanted her to light up when I walked in the room. Those were her responses to the girl in the picture.
The difference in the girl shown above and me is quite simple; she did the work. I only did what came easily. I wasn't willing to give up time on the phone. I wasn't willing to give up socializing with anyone and everyone who'd take me in like a stray pup wanting to be fed. I wasn't willing to STOP thinking about everyone else and START thinking about my own education. The girl shown above was not a follower. The girl in the picture worked hard. She studied hard. She spoke like an adult. She wasn't a trivial middle school aged tween with aspirations of winning any popularity contests. She was smart, and Mrs. Branson knew it. She knew it, and she found an outlet for the girl's intelligence. If memory serves me right, that outlet came in the form of speech and maybe debate at a very early age. Look around you. How many 12 year olds do you know who have the wits about them to stand behind a lectern and support a side without bias? That's what I thought.
After this picture was made, the girl advanced to high school, and I still had another year in middle school. That divide is one that lasts one calendar year but creates an eon of difference among peer groups during adolescence. The rise of 8th grade royalty falls to the climb created by being a freshman. But when this girl became a freshman, and again, if my memory serves me correctly, another shift happened. Teri Branson would no longer be my language arts teacher. This girl went to high school and Teri Branson went, too. I got one year off.
Teri Branson didn't follow. She didn't lead. I believe with all my heart the position became available and the timing was perfect because both were part of a divine plan. Stick with me.
The time between 1984 and 1988 is greatly captured on my film but a little fuzzy and absent from my memory. The girl jumping a permanent hop scotch board shown in this picture remained just as beautiful and just as smart. Her dockside shoes, pen striped jeans, and Members Only jacket were traded in for whatever the trend demanded at the time. (Forgive us for acid washed jeans; for we knew not what we were doing.) Despite my efforts to take pictures of all our lives, I lost her. This is the only picture I have. I lost her because by age 14 I stopped caring about being the smart girl. I stopped following the smart girl. I had lost my direction on what mattered. I didn't make good choices. I didn't care if Teri Branson cared. I let go of wanting to be a smart girl. How. Dare. I.
Over two decades later, a lively little girl in my fifth grade reading class told me all about her cool aunt. She glowed when she spoke of her, and at some point between fall and summer, she asked if I knew her because we had both grown up in Middlesboro. I stopped in my tracks and the first words out of my mouth were, "so smart." That's what I remembered. I had never let it go. I may have stopped looking, noticing, and trying...but I never ever stopped the automatic association with the best adjective ever created to describe a young girl: smart.
Indeed, I had found Dr. Leah Shannon Cobb, if only by name.
That fifth grade niece is now a beautiful, smart young lady.
Tonight, I sat behind Dr. Cobb while she was the guest of honor at the Claiborne County Adult Education Program's GED graduation ceremony. She stood before our graduates and their loved ones and she told them her story. She spoke with the most humble and encouraging voice. Her words floated from her heart through the air while lending the encouragement we all need to hear regardless of occasion. She stood before an entire graduating class of adults and reminded them that she once sat in their place.
As I listened to her gracefully compare and contrast the impact choices had made on her life then and now, I saw the girl in the picture again. All the pieces of my puzzle came together. Teri Branson knew she had found a brilliant, beautiful mind with a spirit to match. A spirit that could not be contained. Teri Branson was one of the best teachers I ever had, and I think the girl in the picture would say the same. Teri Branson had found a student who would become the teacher. As an educator, I know how brightly that diamond in the rough can shine, and what light it emits when it happens! Now, I understand.
Thank you, Dr. Leah Shannon Cobb for spending your evening with us. I am absolutely sure Teri Branson would write down a five as your score. A hard-earned and well deserved five.
