mentor

     When you grow up, you can usually only ever find places -- and in particular, rooms -- that you may return to over a vast swath of time to have seemingly gotten smaller. It makes a lot of sense, seeing as to the fact that you have quite literally grown larger, and your perception of the room has changed in relation to the no longer meekness of your figure. I open with this because, curiously, throughout my years as of yet, there is one room that has only managed to get larger as I have grown: Mr. B's AP US History classroom. At once I may have viewed it as a room I was trapped in -- in the sense that I had found it so drowsily boring that my mind was restrained to my figure's presence in the room. I didn't know then that I would return almost exactly for that reason in following years. APUSH and Mr. B taught me so much, and catalyzed my political involvement to such a degree that I revere the experience nearly as much so in importance as shadowing my mother to her school board meetings in [N]. Returning, I seek inspiration, and not ever has it failed to wrap the speeding tendrils of the thoughts of Left and the burning speed of Right back upon themselves, and ground me to a place of expanse and simplicity in mind. I breathe as clearly as I think, standing in my mind upon the butte of history and the foothills of the future, watching the blades of grass ahead of me bend in the breeze of the echoes of the howling past in the caves and twists of the sandy mesa that preceded me. My manifesto practically writes itself. The notion is almost as peculiar to me as the phenomenon itself; Mr. B's ever-growing room.