It's been awhile since I thought about my fifth grade and eleventh grade teachers. Both of which have contributed to my passion for history. Though I didn't mention Mrs. Cranfield. Her role was still significant because she coupled her history lessons with poetry. Mrs. Yokie's class was the first time I was exposed to the subject that is history.
When I returned to school to pursue my education and decided I would be a history/ed major my first American history class was difficult because I had lost my dad a few months before. After each class I there was that ten year old who wanted to go tell daddy guess what I learned about Paul Revere. I also learned how intricate history was. For the first time one of my favorite school subjects became difficult to handle. My passion for history was embedded and didn't fully become uprooted because though my dad wasn't there to indulge me he had left a lasting impression, passion for history with me.
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