It was 2003. I was beginning my senior year in a new school with unfamiliar faces. My parents were missionaries. They allowed me to live with my grandparents in Illinois that year to have a “normal” high school experience and begin looking at colleges. Mr. Hanold was my English teacher. He had unruly grey hair that stuck up every which way as he often ran both hands over his head in thought or frustration. He wore brown sports jackets or thick cardigans. He quickly became my favorite teacher and left a deep impression as he humbled and challenged me. He wrote emendations on the papers
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