Who was your most influential teacher? Why?

“Mr. Wilson. Just saying his name brings back the scent of dusty stage curtains and the raw, electric energy of the ’70s in Vernon, BC. The Okanagan Valley, a place of sun-drenched orchards and, for me, a place of sudden, sharp heartbreak. I was a kid then, a raw nerve ending masquerading as a high schooler.

Marion… she was everything. Smart, her intelligence was the lifeline that pulled me in. Hopeless at math, I was, but she got me through the exams with effortless ease. She was my lifeline, my anchor. And then, poof, gone. Vanished south, replaced by some other guy, some other life.

I was gutted. It wasn’t just a breakup; it was like the world had tilted on its axis. And, of course, there was the screenplay. A deadline looming, a project I’d poured my soul into, now utterly meaningless. I walked into Mr. Wilson’s drama class, a room buzzing with actors, and I was a ghost. He saw it instantly. He saw past the bravado, the forced indifference. He saw the kid drowning in a sea of pain.

He did something then, something that changed everything. He dismissed the class. Just like that. Cleared the room. Got me a damn soda, like I was some wounded soldier, and just… talked to me. He listened. Really listened. No judgment, no platitudes. Just a human being connecting with another. He didn’t dissect my heartbreak, didn’t try to fix it. He just let me feel it, let me breathe.

He saw something else too, something I’d almost forgotten: my creativity. He reminded me that it was a force, a gift. He said, ‘This, this is your strength. This is where your future lies.’ And he was right. I was so caught up in what I’d lost that I couldn’t see what I had.

Marion, with her math wizardry, she’d missed the magic, the raw, untamed power of creation.

But Mr. Wilson? He saw it. He nurtured it. He gave me back to myself, gave me a path I never even imagined. He showed me that even in the wreckage of a broken heart, there was a chance to build something new, something mine. He gave me the space to realize that my voice, my ability to tell stories, was the real treasure. And for that, for seeing me when I couldn’t even see myself, I’ll be forever grateful.

And, to be honest, even now, smart women are still my Kryptonite. Lol.

Bari Marcus Anthony

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