I came to America at age 9 not speaking a word of English. Liberal art classes were obviously my least favorite. All that the school system cared about was reading a passage and answering some stupid questions about main characters and plot. Needless to say, I didn’t thrive in school.
Then came the 6th grade, junior high. Ms.Lynne Aidikoff was my writing/history teacher. Somehow in all my grammatically incorrect assignments, she saw something worth reading. My dad had a meeting with her during the school year, she told him I can write (who knew?!). I received my first A in English since coming to America that year.
So I kept on writing, and reading so I can keep on writing. I wrote words that she loved which delivered my heart and my opinions. The type that was shamelessly honest and vulnerable. I wrote my way into UCLA, through upper division romantic lit classes in college, and then to medical school.
This year, during my residency interview, the program director remarked “I read 1000 essays this year, yours is the only one I remember.” I can’t help but think of Ms.Aidikoff and how her encouragements brought me here.
We’ve been in contact via facebook over the past few years. She left little comments and messages filled with proudness, joy, and always encouragement. I found out today that Ms. Aidikoff passed away recently. I wish I told her what an amazing adventure in literature, writing, and life she had sent me on. What unbelievable empowerment, release, and comfort writing has brought me in the darkest times of my life.
Looking back, I only realize now that she had given me the single greatest gift that a student can acquire in education, a voice.